


Hail to the King

by PyroKitty24



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, trans!mont
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyroKitty24/pseuds/PyroKitty24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the music world, bands come and go constantly. Competition is high and intense, and even a moment of failure is enough to end a career. Scandals are constant, and for some, a great benefit. For others, a great detriment. The Patron-Minette and The Amis de l'ABC are two up and coming bands, both increasing in popularity. They are extremely competitive with one another as well. Ultimately, one band must come out above the other, and the other will fall to the wayside, forgotten in time by the industry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watch Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Band AU written with my lovely girlfriend. There's going to be a lot going on here, hopefully, but it should be easy to stick with. This also has a tumblr page if you want to check that out. hailtothekinglesmis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we introduce the Patron-Minette

The show had ended a couple of hours prior, and Montparnasse’s stage high had long since worn off. The drug high, though, was still wearing, only slowly beginning to ease up. With their evening finished, he made his way down the hall of the hotel, glancing toward his own room where he knew Claquesous was asleep already on his bed before continuing forward to the room where his other bandmates would be now, assuming they weren’t out for the evening. He hoped one of them wasn’t, at least. Lifting a slightly shaky hand, he knocked, slipping it into his pocket and rocking back on his heels as he awaited a response.

The man that opened the door was tall, blond, and wearing nothing but a towel and a smirk. “Montparnasse!” his voice was deep and a bit raspy, “You’re not who I was expecting at all. Come in, come in.”

There was another set of footsteps, this one heavier and uneven, and another man appeared at the doorway, leaning against the first. This one was fully clothed and in one hand held a half empty bottle of liquor, a bit of it spilling out onto the floor without him noticing. “Mont-” he whined, “G won’t give me my bike keys. I’ll drop you off somewhere if you get them back.”

The blond rolled his eyes and stepped away from the door. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t let the drunk roam the halls.”

Montparnasse, to his credit, refrained from rolling his eyes when he saw the liquor spill from the other’s bottle and moved past him to sprawl back on his bed, his hands resting on his stomach. “I’ll keep him in, don’t worry,” he returned, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Come sit with me, Babet. I’m not feeling up to going out tonight. I’ll stay the night with you if you come here, though.”

Babet had spilled onto the door frame when Gueulemer moved, and after Montparnasse entered, closed the door with quite a bit of difficulty. He dropped his liquor bottle onto the ground next to the bed and threw himself down, letting out a grunt as he landed face first next to Montparnasse.

Snorting quietly, Montparnasse turned his head to look over at the drunk, tucking a hand underneath it to settle more comfortably. “Sous passed out already,” he muttered, sighing quietly. “So my room is quiet. Thus I need attention because I’m far, far too wired to sleep yet.”

Babet turned his head to stare at Mont before, out of the blue, leaning forward and kissing him. “There,” he drawled as he leaned onto his side to get more comfortable after pulling away, “How’s that for attention?”

A pleased sound escaped him at the kiss, and he tilted his head slightly when Babet pulled away, humming quietly. “That’ll do,” he said, grinning slightly. “Any attention is good attention.”

"I wouldn’t say that’s true." the man flipped over so he was on his back and staring at the ceiling, "I mean, a kiss is fine, but under most circumstances I wouldn’t want to be hit, you get what I mean?"

Montparnasse snorted quietly, shifting to rest his head against Babet’s shoulder and resting a hand against his side. “I suppose you have a point. But if it’s the only attention you might get, it’s still attention. It means you’re being acknowledged at least.”

Babet grunted, obviously too drunk to argue with him at the moment. Instead he turned his head and kissed the slighter man again, this time a little longer. The sound of the shower running started in the background, and Babet flicked his eyes over to the shower door, as if he was tempted to get up and join his friend.

Montparnasse shifted closer at that kiss, glancing toward the shower door himself when he saw Babet do so. He bit back a small frown, focusing back on the other man and shifting to settle on top of him, his knees on either side of his hips. “Stay here with me.”

Babet’s attention snapped back to Mont when he moved on top of him and a devious smirk splayed across his face. “Mm, well maybe if it’s going to be like this, I will.”

Huffing out a quiet laugh, he shifted slightly to press closer, ducking his head to kiss Babet’s jaw. “However you want,” he mumbled, straightening back up after a moment and resting his hands against his chest. “Just stay with me. Please.”

"I’m staying, I’m staying. Don’t give me that sad little voice of yours, kid, I don’t want to hear it." Babet groaned in response.

Montparnasse huffed out a quiet laugh, grinning slightly down at him. “What sad little voice? I don’t know what voice you’re talking about.” He leaned down again at that, kissing his jaw and then his neck lazily. “I have no sad little voice.”

"You little liar." Babet growled, twisting his fingers in Mont’s hair as he spoke, pressing his head closer to his neck. "Bite me, damn it."

"I am not a liar," he returned. The hand in his hair drew a quiet sound from his throat, though, and Mont did as requested, biting down hard and sucking lightly.

"Fuck," he hissed out, his grip on Mont tightening. "That’s it. Good boy."

Mont whined softly, flicking his tongue over the reddening spot before biting again, a little harder this time. Shaky hands pressed against Babet’s chest, drifting down to his sides.

In return, Babet let out a quiet groan and rolled his hips upward automatically. He grabbed Mont’s hands and squeezed them both, bringing one up to his mouth to kiss.

Rocking his hips down to meet Babet’s, Montparnasse eased off of the bite, flicking his tongue over it to soothe the sting. He smiled slightly at the kiss, squeezing Babet’s other hand with his free one and choosing a lower spot to bite at.

Squeezing at Mont’s hands again, Babet let out another groan, this time surely loud enough for Gueulemer to hear in the bathroom.

Mont gave a returning sound, much quieter, and rocked his hips down against Babet’s again. Brushing his nose against the fresh marks on his neck, he lifted his head slightly to determine if he was satisfied with what he’d left behind before shifting to kiss him.

And Babet happily kissed him back, letting go of his hands to wrap his arms around him and pull him close. “Like what you see?” he asked with a chuckle.

Settling his hands back against Babet’s chest, Montparnasse let out a quiet laugh, nodding slightly. “Don’t I always?” He shifted a hand up, brushing his fingertips over the marks he’d left. “They’ll be pretty and purple by morning.”

"Good. That’s the way I like them."

"Mm, I know. They’re best that way." Ducking his head, he pressed a lazy kiss to the darker of the two, biting at the lighter one again to darken it up. He lifted his head after a minute to kiss him again, pressing closer and offering a small grin.

"I really appreciate you." Babet said, flicking his ear, "You know that?"

Mont scrunched his nose at the flick to his ear, shaking his head slightly before pink dusted his cheeks. “You’re sweet,” he murmured, turning his head to kiss his wrist. “I appreciate you too.”

"I know what you do with Claquesous, though. You and he are like…together." He was having a hard time stringing words together, no doubt due to his drunken state.

Montparnasse frowned slightly at that, glancing toward the door to the hotel room before shaking his head slightly.”We’re not together,” he replied, looking back at Babet. “We just. Get high together. Sometimes he helps me shoot up when my hands are shaking too much. We’re not together.”

"You’re going to kill yourself one of these days. Sous too."

"I am not." He sighed quietly, closing his eyes. "I don’t take that much. It’s not a big deal."

"If you say so." Babet snorted. By the tone of his voice, it was obvious he thought differently on the matter.

"I’ve barely even used this tour." It was a lie; they both knew how much he had been using, and it was quite a large amount. But it didn’t seem like much now that his tolerance was higher than it used to be. "I’ll be fine. Don’t worry so much."

Babet just shook his head. He wasn’t even interested in sex anymore. He was just tired, and after a moment of wondering where it was, he found his bottle on the floor and picked it up to take another swig.

Sighing quietly, Montparnasse ducked his head to press a kiss to Babet’s jaw, careful not to hit the liquor bottle in his hand. “I’ll ease up.” Possibly true, but when Claquesous got involved… Montparnasse always had a hard time turning down an offered hit. “I’ll try.”

Babet shrugged slightly in return, wincing when a pain from his new bite marks shot through his body.

Noting the wince, Mont glanced over at the marks on his neck, moving to brush his fingertips over them lightly. “They’re purpling. Pretty.”

"Yeah, I can tell." Babet ran a hand through Mont’s hair lightly. "The shower is off."

Montparnasse glanced toward the bathroom door, humming and nodding slightly. “So I can hear.” He ducked his head, brushing a light kiss against Babet’s lips and remaining settled where he was nonetheless.

"Where will Gueulemer stay when he returns, if you’re here?" Babet asked, his voice giving away the fact that he didn’t really care, he was only teasing.

Huffing out a small laugh, Montparnasse grinned slightly, shrugging a shoulder and tilting his head to give a quick nip to his neck. “He can stay here if he wants to. The other bed in my room is also empty if he’d prefer.”

"So you’re determined to stay here all night, then?"

“Mm, I’m thinking so. I don’t want to be alone, and you know I like your bed best.”

"Oh, you say that to all the guys, I’m sure."

Montparnasse snorted quietly, shaking his head. “Oh yeah, definitely right. Considering most guys haven’t seen me without a shirt, let alone gotten me in their bed. Perhaps you’re special.”

"I’d like to think I am." Babet replied with a smirk.

"I think you know you are." Chuckling softly, he shifted to settle closer, a hand lowering to slide under the hem of Babet’s shirt. "I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t, would I?"

He hummed at the touch. “Hn, I thought you were here to see G.”

Montparnasse snorted at that, sliding his hand up slowly and shaking his head. “I came to see you. Don’t I always?”

"You do."

"I thought so." He ducked his head, pressing a couple of lighter kisses to Babet’s neck and smiling softly.

"You should sleep." Babet gently stroked Mont’s hair, a small smile on his face.

"Mm, maybe. M’comfy. You should rest too then."

"I am, aren’t I?"

"With a bottle in your hand?"

"Oh." He looked at the bottle as if he had completely forgotten it was there before making sure it was empty and setting it back down on the floor. "Better?"

Mont nodded at that, shifting slightly to rest his head against Babet’s chest, a hand reaching out to take his now free one and lacing their fingers together. “Much.”

"Good. Sleep now. We’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow. We have to work on a song that will beat those damn Amis."

Mont snorted quietly. “I have some half-written in mind. And R is off tomorrow, so we can call him in to assist if need be.”

"Perfect." Babet let out a loud yawn and curled up against Mont as best he could.

"Thought so." Smothering a quiet yawn of his own, Mont let his eyes slip shut, starting to drift off. "Love you," he murmured thoughtlessly; moments later, he was dead asleep, curled up comfortably against Babet’s chest with a small smile on his lips.

 

 

 

 


	2. Bringing Daylight to the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we introduce Harlequin

Today was the day; the business management degree that her parents had paid ungodly amounts of money for was finally going to pay off. Or so she hoped. Today was the day of her interview with the band members of a relatively new band, Harlequin. She didn't know any of their music at all, if she were honest, but they were a band, and from what she'd gotten from searching their name... they had potential, at least. That was what the radio reviews were saying. Stepping out of the bathroom stall at the stadium, she smoothed her hands over her button-down shirt, jumping slightly when she looked up to see a man standing there by the sink. "Oh, I'm... sorry. I didn't hear anyone else come in."

The man jumped just the same, turning to stare at her with wide eyes. Realizing blood was dripping down his face, he quickly held his paper towel back up to his nose. "God, I'm sorry, I thought it was empty. The men's restroom was full and I just needed the mirror and some paper towels." he explained quickly, trying to tilt his head back while keeping eye contact to be polite.

Quirking an eyebrow at the way his head tilted back, she paused a moment before leaning over the sink and washing her hands quickly. She grabbed a few paper towels once clean, holding them out toward him. "You're bleeding a lot there," she toned. "Get in a fight, did you?" 

"No, no, no!" The man spoke quickly, turning to face her in a snap, "I'm not that kind of guy. Do I look that kind of guy? I'm not. I just get regular nose bleeds and- Oh God." He had just realized that when he turned he had managed to get a spray of blood on her shirt from the paper towel. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."

She didn't realize it at first; she was more occupied with how much blood was on the paper towel that was in his hand. When he apologized, though, she looked down, staring at the line of blood before taking a deep, shaky breath. "Please tell me that's not blood on my shirt. That is not blood. That is not your blood on my shirt. I have an interview in ten minutes. That is not blood. On my shirt." 

"That's, uh, definitely blood on your shirt." The man took a few steps back as she spoke. "I didn't mean to do that. I'm so sorry. But it doesn't look that bad. Really. If it's an interview here, I'm sure no one will mind. Trust me." 

She let out a quiet whine regardless, turning toward the mirror and pulling her shirt away from her chest to try and determine how bad the damage was. "I know you didn't mean to. Fuck, why this. Why now. Not now. I have an interview. Goddamnit." Sighing quietly, she released her shirt, dragging a hand over her face.

"Well, uh, if it bothers you that badly, I can...trade shirts with you? Mine might be a little big on you, but it will look fine, and it doesn't have any blood on it yet." the man offered quietly.

The offer surprised her, and for a moment she just eyed his shirt, chewing her lip in thought. "I can trade back with you after this interview," she said at last, nodding quickly while her hands moved to start unbuttoning her shirt. "It shouldn't be long, no more than twenty minutes. I just. I cannot have blood on my shirt for this interview, I need this job." 

"Sounds good." he replied cheerily, obviously just happy that he had appeased her. He carefully set the paper towel down, dabbing at his nose one last time, before sliding his shirt off and handing it over to her. 

Sliding off her own shirt, she held it out toward him, offering a small smile while she took his own. "Thank you," she said with a nod, slipping his on and buttoning it up before smoothing her hands over it. "It's not too big... You're kind of thin. Thank you so much."

"Hey, yeah, no problem. I mean it was my fault in the first place, right? I shouldn't even be in here. Good luck with your interview." 

She huffed out a laugh at that, nodding slightly and turning back toward him. "Thank you. Twenty minutes. Ah, meet me by the bench over there around then? I'll give you your shirt back then." Giving a nod, she stepped out of the room, heading over to the room where her interview was meant to happen. Shaking hands with the couple of men outside of the room, she followed them inside where a third was already seated to await the arrival of the fourth for the interview. 

The fourth man walked into the interview room about five minutes later, in a shirt too small for him and a paper towel balled in one fist. "Hey guys. Sorry I'm late. Bloody nose thing again." He took his seat and smiled gently at the woman. "Hi. I'm Joly. And you've probably met Bahorel, Bossuet, and R already."

"Oh my god." Of course this would be her luck. It had to be him. She had taken his shirt from him minutes prior, and she had no idea... Swallowing drily, she gave him a weak smile, biting her lower lip. "I'm... Musichetta Dubois."

"Musichetta. It's nice meeting you." Joly was too far away to shake her hand properly, so he figured a smile would have to do. He then looked over at his bandmates. "Where should we start?" 

"Ah. Looking over the resume, I suppose," Bahorel offered up, not entirely sure how to go about things himself. She was young, clearly, fresh out of college at best. She wouldn't have much experience, he was pretty positive. "And then just getting to know you a bit. We'll give a few scenarios, you give your best response to it, and we'll go from there, yeah?"

Musichetta nodded at that, taking a deep breath and straightening up in her seat. She could do this, she could give a good interview. She could land herself this job. She could-- She caught sight of he small line of blood on Joly's shirt then and shook her head slightly, looking down at her lap. She couldn't look at him right now, evidently. But she could do this.

But Joly could feel the look that she was giving him and it was fairly painful for him. He was always a pleasant and outgoing guy, and he knew he was making her feel awkward and might screw up this interview anyway. He wanted to warn Bahorel in some way to go easy on her, but there wasn't much he could do without embarrassing her even further.

The interview continued. "So ah. The resume looks good. You finished your degree... three months ago, yeah? And you were the president of... all of the music clubs, it looks like. What did you do for the presidencies?"

Clearing her throat, Musichetta looked up at the four of them, giving a small smile. "Ah, mostly just bookkeeping, really. I kept track of the club budgets, under the academic advisor, and kept tabs on our good music copies to make sure we didn't lose any between semesters. I also set up a lot of our gigs and fundraisers..." And then her eyes fell on Joly again, on that small line of blood, and she bit her lip for a moment before shaking her head. "I'm... sorry, this ah. This isn't working for me. I'm sorry." She couldn't do it. Pushing herself to her feet she averted her eyes, walking out of the room quickly before she could be stopped. Bahorel watched her go with a small frown, glancing over toward the others in question of whether they knew what had just happened or not. Joly watched her go in surprise, wanting to say something, but just not sure what to say. When he looked back at the others, he found he couldn't meet Bahorel's gaze and instead stared down at his hands in his lap.

Later that night, Musichetta realized she had never given Joly his shirt back. For a moment, she considered calling the number that she had set up the interview on, intending to give it back to him as she had promised. Something made her falter, though - embarrassment, perhaps? - and so she didn't. It was several days later when she was in the midst of a trial shift at a local restaurant, attempting to get something for a job. It wasn't what she wanted to be doing, not by a long shot. She had really been banking on getting that job with the band, knowing that they weren't yet popular, and yet... She supposed it was her fault, really, that she had blown that interview. Joly had been casual about it, hadn't called attention to it, but she... She had been awkward. She had to learn to get over that. Sighing to herself, she gathered up the plates off of another table, heading over to the counter to drop them off to be washed before glancing around to see if there was another table she could assist at nearby. It took a minute's gaze before Musichetta's eyes landed on Joly. And she recognized him immediately. How could she not, after all? Pausing a moment, she debated silently to herself whether she ought to go over or not before deciding it was part of the shift and making her way over, offering him a small smile. "Can I get you anything?" 

"Yeah," he replied almost immediately, "Can I have another one of these. Ah, please?" He pushed the empty bottle in her direction before giving her a smile. 

Glancing down at the bottle, she gave a quick nod, taking the empty one and heading away to fetch him a fresh one. Moments later she returned, popping the top for him and setting it on the table in front of him with a bit more relaxed a look. "Drinking alone tonight?"  

"Nah. I mean. Well. I am, but I won't be in another hour or so. The band should be coming to meet me."

Musichetta huffed out a quiet laugh at his contradictory statements, shaking her head slightly. "You're early to be meeting up in an hour," she teased, glancing around the room. "Did you find a manager yet? I know there are a few people who were looking for that job." 

"Not yet. Did you walk out because of me?" Joly had to ask.

She faltered at that. She hadn't expected the question to be so blunt, really, but... she couldn't blame him for asking. Biting her lip, she looked down at her feet for a moment before shaking her head quickly. "It wasn't because of you," she promised. "It... I flustered myself, it... it wasn't because of you. I'm horrible at interviews, and it was my first one. Well, I mean. My first one for a job that would actually matter. It... yeah. That was all. I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to waste your time or anything. And um. I still have your shirt. I... I meant to call, to try and bring it back."

"It's alright," he replied, now almost positive that it was because of him, "Its not a big deal. Just a shirt. You know, I told the band what happened between us, and they'd be willing to give you a second chance, all you have to do is ask." 

Flushing at the offer, Musichetta took a deep breath, averting her eyes and biting her lip. "That... would be unfair to the other applicants," she said, shaking her head slightly. "I blew the interview, it... You were casual about it, you weren't making things awkward. I shouldn't have gotten as flustered as I did over nothing. It ah. It was foolish, and... I guess I needed that experience. It..." Sighing quietly, she glanced toward the bar, holding up a finger after a moment and walking over to set down her tray and apron. She returned a minute later with a drink of her own in hand and took a seat across from him, brushing a hand through her hair. "In the business classes, they always said you can't undo a bad interview. Asking for a fresh interview after messing up the first one would be unfair to the other people you guys have interviewed, because they're not getting a do-over." 

"You were one of our best interviewees, to be honest. You had the most experience. And it was my fault you fucked up the interview." Joly said with a shrug. 

"I... Oh." Musichetta frowned slightly at the ending bit of his statement, though, shaking her head. "It wasn't your fault, it's not like you were making it awkward or anything. That fault goes solely to me." Glancing down at the drink in her hand, she tilted her head back, taking a long sip before setting the bottle in front of her. "I walked out of the interview before I'd even gotten through the first question and I was still one of the best interviews? Really?"

"Like I said, you had the most experience. I really wish you wouldn't have left, which you wouldn't have done had I not managed to get blood all over your shirt." 

She huffed out a small laugh then, ducking her head. "It wasn't even much blood, really. It was a tiny little line. I just. Panicked. It was a stupid panic, I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. Like I said, completely my fault." Joly smiled.

"You're sweet. Taking the blame even though it wasn't your fault in the least." She gave a grin, slightly playful this time, and tipped her head back to take another sip. "If you're certain you want to take the chance on it... I'll take that second chance interview. I could really use the job."

"Yeah, it's not a problem," he replied, "Really. Ill just talk to the other three and they'd surely be more than willing."

Musichetta nodded then. "Thank you. Really. I don't think I would get a second chance most places, so... Thank you. I'll make it worth your time."

"You'd better," Joly laughed, "Or I'll have a lot of explaining to do."

She snorted quietly, ducking her head. "If I didn't do better this time around, I think it'd be kind of sad, all things considered."

"Very true." He looked at the clock. "My friends will be here soon if you want to stay. We can give you your impromptu interview right here."

Glancing up toward the clock, Musichetta nodded slightly, looking back at him with a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, sure, that'd work. If you don't think they'd mind." 

"Nah I don't think they'd mind at all. So long as they aren't drunk before getting here, anyway." 

She raised an eyebrow at that, glancing toward the clock again with a small grin. "Drunk before six? Really?" 

"I wouldn't put it past R or Bahorel at all." 

"Well then. That's an encouraging thing to know. Let's just hope they're not drunk when they get here then." Taking another sip, she finished off her drink, setting the now empty bottle to the side. "I take it both are pretty heavy drinkers, then?" 

"Yes. Especially R. He's always drunk, more or less. He was probably drunk today at the interview. Not to say anything bad about him. He's a good guy, and he functions pretty well while drunk." 

She hummed at that, nodding and settling back in her seat more comfortably with her hands folded over her stomach. "You wouldn't be in a band with him if he wasn't a good guy, I assume," she mused softly. "It's not particularly surprising. Most of the musicians I knew in college had some kind of habit. Drink, drug, sex, something along those lines, to go with their music. It can eat talent away, but if he can function with it, more power to him. The best performers can handle their habits." 

"Exactly. It would take a lot to get either of them to quit drinking, I'd think. Bossuet and I aren't as bad, but when we drink, we drink." He winked at her and took another shot of his beer. 

Blushing lightly at the wink, she grinned back at him, shaking her head slightly. "Which means part of this management thing will be keeping you hooligans in line - or drinking to match you. S'a good thing I can hold my liquor then." 

"Yes, I suppose so. Though keeping us in line is probably the better option." 

"Mm, probably. But it's the much less fun option."

"True." He shrugged, kicking back another drink before glancing at the clock.

With his glance at the clock, the rest of the band finally approached the table. Bossuet took his usual seat beside Joly, Bahorel taking a seat at the end of the table on his other side, and Grantaire on the other end near Bossuet. Musichetta glanced around at them for a moment before pushing herself to her feet and asking for their orders. Offering each a quick smile once she'd gotten them, she headed over to the bar, putting them in and leaning against the counter. No sooner had she walked away before Bahorel looked over at Joly, raising an eyebrow in silent question. 

"Hey, don't look at me like that." Joly rolled his eyes, "I swear I just happened to find the woman from earlier. The one I took the shirt from. Wow that sounds bad, and kind of creepy."

Bossuet and Grantaire ducked their heads, starting to laugh quietly and attempting to smother it behind their hands. Bahorel made no attempts to smother his own, huffing out a low laugh and grinning."Just happened to," he mused, shaking his head slightly. "Lucky timing. I guess... We can just give her a test run today, and then we'll see if we take her on?" 

Joly nodded. "I think she's perfect for the job, and I feel bad for fucking up her interview. She tried to say it wasn't my fault, but I know it was. it was really awkward. I don't blame her." 

"You really think she's that good for it? I dunno." Bahorel hummed quietly, glancing toward her where she stood at the bar, waiting on Grantaire's drink alone now.

"She's fresh out of college, man. That's risky," Grantaire piped up, lounging back in his seat and kicking his feet up onto Bossuet's lap. 

"I think she can do it." He didn't get that they were just messing with him now. "She needs to get experience somewhere, right? Might as well be here. We need a manager, and she needs a job."

"I think they're fucking around, babe," Bossuet pointed out, chuckling quietly. "We were thinking about taking her on anyway, actually. Since she still tried to interview regardless and she talked you into giving her your shirt."

Bahorel grinned, shaking his head. He refrained from speaking further as Musichetta walked over, setting drinks down in front of their respective owners including a fresh bottle for Joly and taking her seat again.  Joly took the drink and smiled at Musichetta.

"When's the soonest you can work? Do you need two weeks to quit here?" 

Giving him a smile of her own, she shook her head slightly. "Tonight was just a test shift. I don't have the job here yet. I'm out of work at the moment." 

"So you can start tomorrow then, no problem?" 

She looked surprised at that, looking between the four of them before focusing back on Joly. "I... Yeah, definitely. Whenever you want me to start." 

"Sweet. Tomorrow it is then." 

"You're... you're hiring me on the spot...?" A suspicious look overcame Musichetta's face, and she looked between them again before focusing back on him. Bahorel and Grantaire had begun talking, it sounded like they were talking lyrics, and Bossuet was lounging back in his seat, listening to both conversations.

"Yeah. I mean, on a trial basis, but you'll probably be fine. I have faith in you." He shrugged, "Bahorel and Grantaire think its funny you got me to take my shirt off, apparently. And I think you'll do a good job." 

Musichetta flushed at the statement, ducking her head and laughing quietly. "Of course they find it funny. Awesome. Ah, thank you. For the second chance and all that. I ah. I can start booking gigs and stuff tomorrow once you guys fill me in on what you actually have going on already."

"No problem. We can do that tomorrow." 

"Perfect. Thank you, so much. I'll make up for that interview, I promise." She paused a moment, grinning to herself. "And I'll bring your shirt back when I meet up with you."


	3. Keeping Whispers Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we introduce Les Amis de l'ABC

Enjolras flipped through the pile of papers that were splayed out on the table in front of him. Across from him sat Marius, next to him Combeferre, and across from Combeferre was Courfeyrac. They had spent the last few hours looking through up and coming bands that Marius had found as their manager, and were trying to decide which one to ask to open for them on their up and coming tour.

"This is stupid." Enjolras screeched, tossing down all the papers he had been holding onto the table. "I don’t want another band to open for us. Why can’t we just open for ourselves?"

"The Patron-Minette gets opening bands." Marius sighed gently, "Don’t you want to outdo them?"

Courfeyrac was rocking back in his seat, flipping a pen in his hand and listening in relative silence while they argued over the opening bands. Of course Enjolras didn’t want to hire anyone; that would mean paying them and giving someone else an opportunity. He sighed at Marius’s statement, though, pinching the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately, he had a point.

Leaning forward, he grabbed a few of the pages, pointing one out. “What about this one. Undertone. How were they?”

Enjolras leaned forward and ripped the paper out from under Courfeyrac’s hands, crinkling it up and tossing it over his shoulder. “Shit. Everyone is shit.”

Marius just let out a loud sigh at this and rested his head against the table.

"We’re never going to get done if you keep doing that, Enjolras." Combeferre pointed out, lowering his sunglasses enough to show he was glaring at the blond.

Courfeyrac shifted his hand to massage a temple, closing his eyes for a moment before speaking up again. “We have to have someone, Enjolras. The Minette have opening bands, all major bands have opening bands. If we don’t have an opening band, then we’ll get nowhere.”

"I don’t care what the Patron-Minette do." Enjolras retorted, "We’re better than them anyway. So it would only make sense that we don’t have an opening band."

"Enjolras. That doesn’t make any sense at all." Combeferre had replaced his glasses now, but he was still visibly upset. He was tense and wore a large frown on his face.

"Enjolras please." Marius pleaded with him, "Just pick one. That’s all I ask. Courfeyrac is right, you know."

Courfeyrac sighed quietly; pleading wasn’t going to get them anywhere, he could tell it wasn’t going to. Enjolras was going to be stubborn about this no matter what Marius said. So he opted for another route.

"So here’s how we’ll do it. If you won’t help us decide, we’ll vote on them between ourselves. Three to one vote is a win, my friend."

"Sounds like a good idea to me." Combeferre picked at his glasses as he spoke, watching Enjolras carefully. It was obvious that this idea upset the blond, but Enjolras finally nodded his head.

"Thank God." Marius muttered to himself, and in a louder voice added, "Alright. One of you pick one, and we’ll work from there."

Combeferre automatically looked at Courfeyrac for this, but Enjolras had already picked one up and was reading the band specs out loud.

"No. I don’t like them." E said suddenly, "They have a female lead singer. I don’t want a band with a female lead." He crumpled the paper and tossed it over his shoulder as well.

"What’s wrong with a female lead?" Courfeyrac questioned, raising an eyebrow. Regardless, he started flipping through the pile in front of him, handing over a couple of bands when he got to them. "There’s Under The Bridge and Mormont there. I’ve at least heard of Mormont once."

"I have too." Combeferre said. He reached out for the paper, but Enjolras snatched it up to look over it too. Reading the band specs out loud, he stopped when he was starting to look over the pictures. "I don’t like them." the blond announced, "Their lead is a blond too."

"Enjolras, you can’t be that picky. It’s not going to take away from you at all." Marius reached out to take the paper from him, but Enjolras crumpled it and threw it over his shoulder before he could.

Sighing quietly, Courfeyrac shook his head, pushing a couple other pages toward the middle of the table and handing ones that he favored to Combeferre instead. “You’re being ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath. “We have to pick /someone/.”

Combeferre held out one of the papers to Marius, who quickly grabbed it before Enjolras could snatch it away. “The lead in this band isn’t female or blond. Courfeyrac liked them, and I do too.”

Marius looked over the paper before nodding his head. “Alright. I can contact them.”

Enjolras was trying to look at the paper over Marius’s shoulder, but the brunette kept moving away so Enjolras couldn’t see it.

"If I don’t even get to see the paper, I won’t preform with them there. I swear to God." Enjolras hissed, but Marius just handed the paper back to Courfeyrac.

Looking at the paper, Courfeyrac let out a pleased sound, nodding. “Yes, good, I know this one, I like this one. I know the drummer. This guy’s good.” Looking up at Enjolras, Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, silently daring him to challenge the group. “You’re not throwing this paper away and we’re hiring them. Here.” He held the paper out to him, finally letting him see it and crossing his arms over his chest. “Their lead wrote one of our songs with me. That one that we got on the radio last month.”

Enjolras frowned at the instructions and was about to toss the paper over his shoulder anyway when he noticed the portrait of their lead. “Oh!” he gasped, a smirk on his face, “Yes, I like this one. Their lead isn’t pretty at all.”

"That’s a terrible reason, Enjolras." Combeferre commented, but he didn’t seem displeased.

Marius quickly took the paper back from Enjolras before he could find something about the band he didn’t like and ruin it completely. “Perfect. I can contact them tonight and see if they’ll tour with us.”

Enjolras’s statement made Courfeyrac sigh, and he rolled his eyes, rocking his chair back on two legs again. “Don’t be an ass when they get here, Enjolras. Their lead’s a good writer, maybe he’ll help if we’re decent to them during the tour.”

"I would never even think of it." Enjolras replied, "I’m always nice. I don’t know what your problem is."

"Always nice my ass." Combeferre muttered to Courfeyrac. Enjolras picked up one of the papers off of the group and nailed Ferre in the face with it.

Courfeyrac snorted quietly, letting out a loud laugh at the toss and shaking his head. “Oh yeah, that was totally nice Enjolras. Nailing your best friend in the face with a wad of paper is the nicest thing in the world.”

"He said a mean thing about me!" Enjolras whined, and Combeferre just laughed and threw the paper back at him. This, of course, angered Enjolras to the point that he looked as if he would flip the table over, while his friend just laughed.

"Knock it off, children. Really." Marius sighed, successfully getting punched in the shoulder by Enjolras because of his comment.

Marius’s sigh just made Courfeyrac snicker again, and he shook his head slightly, kicking his feet up onto the table. “You should go make that call so we can go out, Marius babe,” he suggested.

This comment immediately made Marius blush. “You know, you can go out without me. Just don’t get yourselves in trouble. I don’t want to be called to bail anyone out of jail again.”

"That happened once." Combeferre groaned.

"I’m not letting it go."

"But you should come drinking with me." There was an undertone to his suggestion, which he accompanied with a smirk, and he flipped the pen he’d been holding in his hand. "It’ll be fun, you know it will."

Marius blushed even harder and nodded his head. “A-Alright. I can do that. Just let me. Yeah.” He picked up the paper and stood, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he walked away.

"You’ve got him under your thumb, Courf." Combeferre commented, "And I thought Enjolras was bad."

Courfeyrac smirked at the comment, chuckling and tilting his head back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve done absolutely nothing.”

Combeferre socked him on the shoulder. “You liar. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

"Oh come on Courf. Even I see it." Enjolras commented, wrapping one of his golden curls around his finger as he spoke.

Rubbing his shoulder with an expression of mock offense, Courfeyrac couldn’t keep the grin off of his face despite his minimal attempts at denying the truth. “I’m not doing a thing. Marius just wants a drinking buddy to slip into bed with later is all.”

"Oh yes, I’m sure that’s it. It’s completely what he wants, and not what you want, right?" Combeferre snickered.

"I have not a clue what you’re talking about. I am an innocent bunny and he crawled into my bed of his own accord, thank you very much."

"Liar." Enjolras hissed.

"He’s right for once." Combeferre added, "You’re no innocent bunny."

"And how would you know I’m not an innocent bunny? Have you ever been in my bed, hmm?" Slipping his feet off of the table, he rocked his chair back onto four legs, leaning his elbows forward to lean against the table instead.

"Oh, we’ve all heard your escapades." Enjolras said, which was accompanied by Combeferre’s remark of, "And we recognize when it’s Marius too."

Courfeyrac couldn’t help but snicker at that, quirking an eyebrow. “And how can you tell when it’s him then?”

"He’s loud." They both said at the same time.

Meanwhile, Marius had been completely oblivious to the conversation the band members were having about him. He had stepped into the other room to dial the manager’s number on the paper, and was waiting for her to pick up the phone.

The phone only rang twice before an answer came, and a pleasant voice responded. “Good afternoon, Musichetta Dubois for Harlequin speaking.”

"Ah, hello. My name is Marius Pontmercy, and I’m with Les Amis de l’ABC. We were looking for an opening group for our latest tour."

An opening group. And for a band that she recognized. Patting down her pockets, Musichetta smiled wide, nodding to herself as she pulled out a handheld. “Ah, I recognize the group. We’re definitely interested. When does the tour begin, and what city?”

"A month from now, here in Paris. I hope it’s not too late. The band had a hard time deciding who they wanted to open for them and they put it off for last minute."

“It’s not too late at all! We happen to be just playing local shows right now, so it’s perfect timing. We can definitely be ready by then.” Typing the information in quickly, she paused before speaking again. “We should have the bands meet, possibly next week, and run through their sets together a few times prior to the tour starting to ensure that they mesh well?”

Marius didn’t think that was a good idea at all, knowing that his band would do something to fuck this up and then they wouldn’t have an opening band, but he said, “Perfect. I can send you the details of where to meet and whatnot, if the email address on this paper is correct.”

"That email is correct, yes. We’ll see you in about a week then, Mister Pontmercy. I look forward to working with you."

"Ah yes, same here, Ma’am. Thank you for your time." Marius hangs up the phone as he returns to the room the band is in. "Guess what? You have your opening band booked. Congrats, you’re almost ready for this tour."


	4. Shades of Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Grantaire, Babet, and Montparnasse give you a bit of background information on the bands, along with some nsfw stuff

They finally had a gig. It was news good enough that Grantaire decided going out to drink rather than staying in, and meeting up with friends no less, was worthwhile. And so he entered the bar, brushing a hand through his hair to smooth it back and heading over to the counter to take a seat. He gave a grin to the girl behind the bar, ordering a strong mixed drink, and leaned against it to await the arrival of the others.

It didn’t take long for Babet and Montparnasse to show up. Upon entering the bar, Babet removed his glasses and immediately spotted Grantaire, running over to him and putting his arms around him. “Hey babe. Long time no see.” he greeted before planting a kiss on Grantaire’s cheek. He was obviously drunk already.

Huffing out a laugh at the other’s greeting, Grantaire turned in his seat, tilting his head up and pressing a lazy kiss to Babet’s jaw. “That’s because someone went on tour,” he returned, nodding to Montparnasse as he took the seat beside them. “How was it?”

Babet moved to sit on the other side of Grantaire. “Wonderful. They let me take my bike with me, and we got to see some sights. Got plenty of women across Europe. They’re suckers for a good looking musician with a bike. You wouldn’t believe it.”

Chuckling quietly, he shook his head. “I’m not surprised in the least. Not that you have trouble getting anyone in bed anyway. If yours was empty, I’d be concerned.”

Babet smirked at this. “Little Montparnasse likes my bed most of all.”

Montparnasse flushed, ducking his head and clearing his throat. “Shh.”

Grantaire snorted, leaning over to nudge Babet’s shoulder playfully. “Notice the lack of denial. Cute, Montparnasse has a crush.”

"Shut up, do not."

Babet just smirked at this. “I know he does. It’s pretty obvious. Gueulemer even sees it.”

"I do not, shut up." Montparnasse glared between the two of them, shaking his head, before turning toward the bar and ordering a drink for Babet and a water for himself.

"We’ll take his word for it for now," Grantaire said, chuckling quietly and tipping his head back to take a long sip of his drink. "He’ll deny it anyway."

"Of course." Babet snickered before leaning back in his chair. "So what have you been up to, R? Anything that I should know about? Any pretty men in your life?"

He snorted at the last question, shaking his head slightly. “Are there ever pretty men in my life? Aside from you, of course.” He gave a teasing grin, winking. “I’ve mostly just been writing a lot. Band got a manager finally, she actually found us a touring gig for this band. What was the name… Some dumb pun. The Amis or something like that.”

Babet looked deathly serious as he responded, “Les Amis? Like, Les Amis de l’ABC?” He exchanged a glance with Montparnasse before looking back at Grantaire, looking almost upset.

Montparnasse’s expression sunk when he saw Babet’s look, and he chewed his lip, hoping that Grantaire would deny that. Childish as it may be, he didn’t want his friend working with their biggest competition. Surely there was another band or something along those lines.

Grantaire, though, frowned slightly when he saw the looks on their faces, nodding slowly. “I… Yeah, that’s the band. I haven’t heard any of their stuff, though. Chetta said their music is lighter than ours is. Why…?”

"You know Les Amis are our biggest competitor, right?" Babet prodded, "They’re the ones that we keep complaining about. How they’re rich, spoiled brats that are trying to take our spotlight that we worked so hard to get."

"Oh." Well, shit. Grantaire hadn’t paid attention to the name of their competitor, if he were honest. He hadn’t ever thought much on it, given that he never anticipated getting to astage of working with them in any capacity. It drew a sigh from him, and he dragged a hand over his face, chewing the inside of his lip. "I didn’t realize they were that band. We need the gig, though, man. And they’re paying."

"You’re not going to like them," Babet pointed out, "They’re all a bunch of brats. Rich kids that mommy and daddy bought whatever they wanted."

"I don’t have to like them," he said, shrugging slightly. "I just need the job. You know how little I’ve been able to get for work, even outside of music."

Montparnasse nodded slightly, leaning around Grantaire to hand Babet his drink when the bartender handed them to him. “If you think you can handle them without backing out of the tour… I wish you luck. They’re brats. Worse than we are.”

"We’re nothing compared to them," Babet offered as he took his drink, "Really. We’re fucking angels, man. Angels."

Grantaire chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “It’ll be a long tour. But it pays. Maybe it won’t be as bad as it seems like.”

"Good luck. When do you get to meet them?" Babet was leaning back in his chair again, sipping at his drink.

"Mm, in a few days. Chetta arranged practices with them for the three weeks before tour starts."

"Last minute much? Only booked a month before the tour?" Montparnasse raised an eyebrow at that, taking a small sip of his own and relaxing back.

"I guess they had issues picking out a band or something like that," He explained with a shrug.

"Sounds like Enjolras." Babet said the man’s name in disdain and finished off his drink, putting the empty bottle back on the bar. "He would do that, you know. Force them to wait until last minute to get a band. Luckily you guys do nothing, so."

Grantaire snorted at the disdain in his voice, raising an eyebrow. “Is he really that much of an ass? And we do shit, thank you. It’s just. Small shit.”

"Yeah, he really is. You’re gonna hate him. It’ll be funny, and I wish I could be there just to watch."

Ugh. Great. He sounds like a dick already.” Letting out a sigh, he tilted his head back to finish off his drink, giving the bartender a nod when she came over with refills for both him and Babet.

"He’s from a rich family and hasn’t had to really work a day in his life, do you expect any less?" Montparnasse returned, rolling his eyes.

"God I really wish I could see you guys meet. It would be great." Babet picked up his new drink, flashing Grantaire a smirk before starting at it.

"Oh shush. Maybe it won’t be totally terrible." Montparnasse’s snort wasn’t encouraging, though, and Grantaire swatted his arm half-heartedly. "I only have to deal with them in bits and pieces, at least."

"Yeah, sure. The time you spend with them will be too much. Trust me." Babet commented, already finished with his second bottle.

"Such encouragement," he returned with a sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. "We’ll see how it goes." Patting down his pockets then, he made a victorious sound as he dragged out a folded up half-sheet of paper, handing it to Babet. "Here, by the way. New song for you."

Babet took the paper and unfolded it, squinting to read the lyrics in his drunken state. “I like it. You sure we can have this?”

"Yeah, ‘course. It’s too… gritty. For Harlequin. It’s better suited to you guys."

"You’re so good to us, hooking us up with songs." Babet laughed, folding the paper up and tucking it away in his own pocket. "Never not write us songs."

Grantaire snorted quietly, shaking his head and lounging back in his seat as he finished off his drink. “It’s only because I get royalties, I promise you.” That was a lie; Grantaire didn’t make much in royalties, in reality. He mostly wrote for them because they were his friends. “And maybe because it sounds better from you guys than from us.”

"Hey. You’d better not start writing for the Amis, you hear me?"

Grantaire scoffed at that idea, shaking his head. “I probably wouldn’t write anything good enough for them, if they’re as spoiled as you say.”

"I don’t know, you’re a pretty good writer. And I hear they don’t write their own songs."

Grantaire hummed quietly at that, shaking his head. “Even so. I doubt anything I’d write would be worthy. Far as I’ve heard, they’re not the style I write for anyway.”

"They’re a bunch of pretty boys." Babet agreed.

"Precisely what I’ve heard. And given that my style is either gritty, like yours, or fucking weird, like Harlequin’s… Nothing I write now would fit. I don’t think it’s worrisome, don’t worry."

"Good. We can’t lose our favorite songwriter." Babet winked at him again.

Grantaire chuckled at that, leaning over to kiss Babet’s jaw. “You wouldn’t lose me even if I was writing for them, you know that.”

"Ohh, if you’re not careful, Montparnasse is going to have some new competition." Babet laughed, leaning a bit closer to Grantaire.

Glancing over at Montparnasse, who was now blushing, with a grin, Grantaire gestured him closer, pressing a kiss to his jaw as well. “No such thing as competition between friends,” he returned, chuckling quietly.

Montparnasse just flushed, reaching past Grantaire to nudge Babet’s side.

Babet laughed at this, reaching out a hand toward Montparnasse. “Come sit with me babe.”

Montparnasse stood when Babet reached out, moving to sit on his lap and settling comfortably. “Better?”

"Yes. Much." Babet replied, kissing him on the cheek.

Montparnasse couldn’t help grinning, turning his head to kiss him on the mouth before shifting to rest his head back against Babet’s shoulders. Grantaire gave an exaggerated, “Awww,” tipping his head back and finishing off his drink before gesturing the bartender over to get fresh drinks for him and Babet.

Babet stuck his tongue out at Grantaire before grabbing his drink and taking a large gulp of it.

Grantaire chuckled, turning in his seat to tangle his legs with Montparnasse’s. “When’s your next tour happening?”

"We have a couple of months break." Babet explained, "Probably going to spend that time finding women to fuck and driving my bike around."

Grantaire caught Montparnasse’s eye at that bit, caught the slight pout on his face, and rolled his eyes. “As you usually do?” he teased.

Montparnasse just pressed closer to Babet, taking his free hand to trace patterns along the back of it. “I’ll be doing the usual. Dealing with Sous and Ponine.”

"Of course." He frowned at Montparnasse, "You really need to cut back."

Montparnasse glanced up at Babet, shrugging a shoulder slightly. “I didn’t take anything today.” Honest, for once. He hadn’t used at all that day, though whether that was for his own will or for lack of drug was undetermined. “I’m working on it.”

"I don’t think you really are. At least drinking isn’t as bad."

"I am!" He frowned, sighing quietly and shifting a hand to fidget with his inner elbow. "I’m working on it. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. And I didn’t take anything today. I’m not as bad as Sous."

"Okay, okay. Christ. Calm down." He took another large sip of his drink.

"I am calm," he muttered, shaking his head and finally finishing off his drink. "I’m fine. I’ll ease up while we’re off tour and it’ll be fine."

Grantaire watched the exchange with a slightly disbelieving look, shaking his head slightly when Montparnasse fell quiet again. “I know a rehab center if you need one. They’re decent.”

Babet glanced over at Grantaire before shaking his head. “We have another tour coming up so soon though. There’s no time.”

"A couple of months is enough time to make a dent, at least. It’s a 30-day program standard, but there are 60- and 90-day ones if you’ve gone through a stint before. Just an option, I’ll text you the number later."

Montparnasse sighed quietly, taking Babet’s hand to trace patterns on the back of it again and focusing down on it.

Babet shrugged before running a hand through Montparnasse’s hair and kissing him on the top of the head.

Humming quietly, Montparnasse tilted his head slightly at the hand through his hair, looking up at Babet with a small smile.

"Aww, cute," Grantaire teased again, chuckling quietly. "You look like a couple."

Babet kicked Grantaire, frowning at him before turning back to his drink.

Grantaire snickered quietly, shaking his head and sipping at his drink again. “Oh don’t give me that, it’s cute,” he returned.

Montparnasse flushed, shifting slightly to press a kiss against Babet’s neck before the bartender walked over and set a drink down in front of him.

"I. Should stop drinking. If I’m going to drive us home tonight." Babet said as he finished his drink, kissing Montparnasse on the side of the face. "Or I could have one more."

"Mm, you should probably stop." Montparnasse took the drink that was set down, tipping his head back to drink it quickly before curling up more comfortably in Babet’s lap.

Grantaire nodded slightly, finishing off his own drink and setting it on the counter. He waved off the bartender when she came over to gather the empty bottles, keeping her from bringing them more. “No Gueulemer in the area tonight, huh?”

"No, or he would have taken my keys." Babet admitted, a bit upset that they weren’t letting him have one more drink, "He’s out doing God knows what, or he’d be here with us. Probably has a horde of girls on the way to his bed already."

Grantaire snorted quietly, shaking his head. “Of course. What better welcome home than a horde of women in your bed, no?”

Montparnasse snorted quietly, shaking his head. “Or, you know, a night in your own bed in general. That’s a bonus.”

"Gueulemer always has a horde of women in his bed. I don’t get it. He’s not even that great looking if we’re being honest here."

Grantaire laughed at that. “He’s plenty handsome. And it’s the whole drummer thing. ‘Rel has no problems getting a girl in his bed either. It’s gotta be a drummer thing.”

"It must be, since I don’t think I even get that many girls. Shit."

Snickering quietly, he shook his head. “Or it could be because of all the rumors surrounding you, Mont, and Sous. Most girls don’t think they have a chance.”

"Maybe." He shrugged, "I’ve slept with Gueulemer before too though. And I think Sous has too."

Montparnasse hummed quietly, nodding. “But the rumors don’t spread as much about him,” he pointed out.

Grantaire made a gesture of agreement. “Precisely my point.”

Babet shrugged. “I don’t get it.”

"Neither do I, but it happens man. You have people in your bed when you want ‘em, though."

"I know I do." Babet shrugged again and reached out to grab his drink before remembering he didn’t have one anymore. "Damn it, if I can’t drink I don’t want to be here."

Grantaire snickered quietly, gesturing toward the door. “I should head back home anyway, we’ve got meetings early tomorrow morning.”

"Yeah. Good luck with that."

“Thanks. Drive safe, man.” Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to Montparnasse’s jaw, and then to Babet’s, before getting to his feet and heading out of the bar.

Montparnasse watched him go before tilting his head up and kissing Babet’s jaw. “Shall we head back then?”

“Yeah. We should. Before I have another drink and get us killed on the way home.”

Montparnasse frowned at that, getting to his feet and offering Babet a hand up. “Should I call us a cab then?”

"No way in Hell am I leaving my bike here." He used Montparnasse to stand, taking a few dizzy steps toward the door before finally regaining his balance.

Montparnasse watched him walk, chewing his lip and letting out a sigh as he followed behind him out the door. “Just don’t crash,” he muttered. “If you get us home safe, I’ll do whatever you want when we get there.”

"Oh, really now?" Babet laughed as he fished for his keys.

Looking up at him with a grin, Montparnasse nodded. “Really. Anything you want.”

Babet leaned over and kissed him when he found his keys. “You going to finally have sex with me, after all this flirting?”

Tilting his head up into the kiss, Montparnasse flushed, giving a slightly shy smile. “I did say anything you want.”

Babet snorted. “You don’t have to. I’m just messing with you.”

"If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t leave the option open."

"In that case, I’m excited to get home."

Montparnasse blushed, offering Babet a grin and leaning up to kiss him again. “Let’s get back then.”

"One problem." he said after a moment of thinking, "Where the fuck did I park?"

Glancing around them, Montparnasse thought for a moment before taking his hand. “Out front,” he returned, leading him around to the street side of the bar and pointing his bike out. “You forgot where you parked? Really?”

"I am going to get us home safely I swear to God." Babet was almost positive he wasn’t going to be able to drive.

"… I feel like I should call a cab." Montparnasse looked uneasy, dropping his free hand to his pocket. "I can text ‘Rel to pick up your bike and bring it home for us."

Babet let out a sigh. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care. So long as no one steals my bike.”

"No one will steal your bike, I promise," he murmured, shifting up to kiss his jaw before pulling out his phone and sending a text to Bahorel. His phone went off again a minute later, confirming that Bahorel would pick it up for them, and he sent off another message to secure a cab for them. "There. Cab’s on the way, ‘Rel’s gonna get the bike when he’s done with Gueulemer."

"Oh, are they Fucking now?" Babet couldn’t help but make the comment.

Montparnasse snorted, shaking his head. “No, pretty sure they’re just hanging out at another bar. ‘Rel’s got his eye on someone else last I knew.”

"Oh? And who might that be?"

"Some techie. New guy that’s working with their band. I can’t remember what his name was, though." He shrugged, leaning against Babet’s side lightly. "It’s probably some fleeting thing like usual."

"Probably. It always is with Bahorel, isn’t it?"

"Mm, I think so. I think the longest term thing I’ve seen with him was his thing for R, and even that passed pretty quickly." Humming, Montparnasse straightened up when the cab pulled up in front of them, gesturing for Babet to enter first. "Let’s get home."

Babet opened the cab door and slid in, leaning against the opposite door and closing his eyes.

Montparnasse slid in after him, curling up against his side and giving the address for Babet’s apartment. When the cab started moving, he tilted his head against Babet’s shoulder.

Babet put an arm around Montparnasse, his eyes still closed, and let out a contented sigh.

The drive was quiet and relatively quick, and when they pulled up in front of the apartment building, Montparnasse patted down his pockets, dragging out his wallet and handing over the money to cover the drive. Sliding out of the cab, he offered Babet a hand up.

Babet used Montparnasse to pull himself up and searched for his keys again. “Do you think G is home?”

"Mm, no. He’s still out with ‘Rel, I think." Helping Babet balance himself, Montparnasse settled an arm around his waist, humming quietly. "We’ll probably be alone a while."

"Oh good. Plenty of time to get you in and out of my bed without him being bothered."

Montparnasse flushed, nudging Babet’s side lightly. “He wouldn’t be bothered anyway,” he mumbled. “It’s not as though I don’t spend the night often as is.”

"But I’ve never gotten to make you scream before."

He flushed darker at that, ducking his head to hide a grin. “He’ll deal if he comes home too early.” Walking up to the apartment door, he gestured for Babet to unlock it before stepping inside. “We should have plenty of time, though. ‘Rel’ll keep him busy.”

"Probably." He let out a loud yawn and returned his keys to his pocket clumsily.

"Tired?" he questioned, sliding his hands into his pockets and waiting for Babet to lead the way through to the bedroom.

"Yeah, guess I am." He muttered as he headed to his bedroom.

Montparnasse followed behind him, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist from behind and kicking the door shut when they got there. “Drank too much, hmm.”

Babet chuckled and placed his own hands on top of Montparnasse’s. “A bit.”

Humming, he laced their fingers together, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and shifting slightly to rest his cheek against the other’s upper arm. He looked up at him with a small grin. “Only a bit, though, of course.”

Babet smirked. “Only a bit.” He repeated.

Humming quietly, Montparnasse moved around him, keeping his arms around Babet’s waist and shifting up to kiss him.

Babet hungrily kissed him back, biting at his lips.

He let out a quiet sound, parting his lips to deepen the kiss and pressing closer against him.

Babet put his arms around Montparnasse then, slipping his tongue into the other’s mouth as he pressed closer.

Montparnasse’s hands slid up from Babet’s waist, resting on his chest, and he gave a quiet whine.

Babet gently ran a hand through Montparnasse’s hair as he continued to kiss him.

Montparnasse broke the kiss then, tilting his head back into the hand in his hair and taking a shaky breath. His head turned to press a kiss to the inside of Babet’s wrist, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips.

Babet smiled back and leaned forward to kiss Montparnasse’s cheek. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Looking up at Babet, he nodded, kissing his wrist again. “I’m positive.”

"I’m worried that I’m going to fuck something up in our friendship."

"You won’t," he promised softly. "It won’t fuck anything up. You’ve slept with G and Sous and it hasn’t messed things up. It won’t with me either."

"They’re different. They’re not you."

"It won’t mess things up. I promise." He leaned up, kissing Babet more chastely this time. "I’ve wanted this for a while. I know you want it too. What could go wrong?"

"You’re right." Babet said with a genuine smile, "Nothing could possibly go wrong."

"Exactly." He gave a returning smile and a nod. "Nothing could go wrong."

Babet chuckled and leaned forward, capturing Montparnasse’s mouth in a kiss once again as he walked him toward the bed.

Montparnasse gave a pleased sound at that, kissing back and letting himself be walked backwards.

He pushed Montparnasse onto the bed and then climbed on top of him, kissing him again and pressing his hands underneath the hem of his shirt.

Montparnasse pressed just slightly into the kiss, one hand sliding up to thread into his hair. His muscles tensed briefly under Babet’s hands, and he sucked in a quick breath through his nose, relaxing again after a moment.

Moving to kiss his cheek instead, Babet asked, “You okay?” He had felt the tense underneath his fingers.

Looking up at him at the question, he nodded slightly, giving a shy smile. “I’m good.”

Babet smiled, moving to kiss him on the lips before pausing, giving the smaller man a questioning look. “You haven’t done this before, have you?”

For a moment, he considered lying, just for the sake of saving face. He played off confident most of the time so well that it wasn’t easy to tell. But it was Babet - and he would know in a short time anyway. After a moment’s pause, he shook his head slowly. “No, I haven’t.”

"That explains a lot." Babet laughed after a moment, "Fuck. I don’t know if I can do this. You deserve someone better than me for your first time."

"I want it to be you." Leaning up, he pressed a kiss to Babet’s jaw, slipping his hand from his hair to cup his cheek instead. "I trust you more than I trust anyone else, and I know you won’t hurt me."

Babet smiled at this, leaning into the touch. “I’ve never been as gentle with anyone as I am with you. But you really haven’t done anything with Sous? I’m not sure I can believe that.”

Montparnasse shook his head, dragging his thumb over Babet’s cheek lightly. “I haven’t. He’s tried to get me to, but… I said no. Pissed him off, but he didn’t push too much.”

"Well you’ve done a good job tricking me." Babet laughed again before leaning down to kiss him.

He snorted softly at that, kissing back and pressing a bit closer to him.

He broke the kiss only to pull off Montparnasse’s shirt, running his hands up and down his chest.

Montparnasse flushed lightly when his shirt came off, immediately looking more bashful and averting his eyes briefly. He let out a shaky sigh at the hands moving along his skin, pressing up into the touch slightly and looking back at Babet.

Babet smiled at him gently, trying not to convey any sort of nerves that he might have. There was something special about Montparnasse, to him, and he wasn’t like anyone else who came in and out of his bedroom- including both Claquesous and Gueulemer.

"So, should I ask, or?"

The gentle smile made him relax, moving a hand to rest on Babet’s waist. “Ask what?”

"So that’s a no then. Alright. I can work with it."

Shifting slightly under him, Montparnasse paused a moment before leaning up and kissing his jaw lightly. His free hand moved to his own side during that motion, finding a pin and pulling it free from the ace bandage on his chest.

"Oh." Babet said when he pulled away from the kiss, finally realizing that the bandage wasn’t from any sort of wound- it was a binder. "You’re. Oh."

Montparnasse nodded shyly then, averting his eyes for a moment before catching Babet’s gaze again. “I haven’t… I haven’t transitioned. At all. Just… binding.”

"Okay. So you’re. Okay." Babet shook his head slightly, knocking the loose hairs out of his eyes.

He huffed out a quiet laugh at the stilted sentences, shifting up and unwinding the bandage from around his chest to reveal it. “Trans, yes. It’s… evidently less obvious than I thought.”

"I had no fucking clue. Okay then." Babet was staring at Montparnasse in surprise still, though, not making a move to continue.

"Surprise." Montparnasse averted his eyes then, chewing his lip and giving Babet another couple of minutes to process it before leaning up and kissing him.

After a moment, Babet kissed him back, running a hand through Montparnasse’s hair and rubbing his thumb over his side.

He was responding now; that made Montparnasse relax, letting out a quiet sigh into the kiss and settling a hand against the side of his neck.

He bit at Montparnasse’s lips again, running his hand down to pop the button on Montparnasse’s jeans.

He whined slightly at the bite, parting his lips and curling his fingertips against Babet’s neck.

Babet slipped a hand inside the others jeans, gently rubbing a finger against him. “You still okay?”

Letting out a small sigh, Montparnasse blushed at the question, nodding slightly. He shifted, spreading his legs and humming quietly. “M’good.”

Continuing to touch him, a little harder this time, Babet smiled gently and uncharacteristically. “Just tell me if you need to stop.”

A quiet moan sounded at the firmer touch, and Montparnasse nodded, giving him a shy smile back. “I will. M’good, though.”

"Let me just…" Babet shifted so he could slide Montparnasse’s pants off before touching him again and giving him a rough kiss.

He blushed, averting his eyes again when his jeans were slid off, but then Babet was touching him again and he gasped into the kiss, pressing into it. He threaded a hand into Babet’s hair, tightening his grip.

Pulling away for a moment, he tugged his own shirt over his head and threw it on the growing pile of clothes on the ground.

Montparnasse leaned up when Babet’s shirt came off, trailing a hand along his chest and kissing along his neck lightly. He bit after a few light kisses, intending to mark.

Babet let out a throaty growl when he was bitten, leaning toward the feeling and beginning to grope him again, wanting the moans to come back.

He offered up a moan against Babet’s neck, his hips shifting up to rock into the touch and his mouth faltering as he let out a shaky breath. His hand moved up to the other side of Babet’s neck, pressing lightly as he bit again, harder this time.

Babet let out a growl-like moan when he was bitten again, his touch automatically becoming a little bit rougher.

Montparnasse gave a louder moan at that, which tapered off into a needy whine as his fingertips curled against Babet’s neck.

"Are you ready, then?" Babet asked upon hearing the noise he made, giving him a smirk.

Montparnasse flushed slightly at the question, pulling back slightly to meet his eye before nodding. “Think so.”

"Think so?" He raised an eyebrow, "Well if you’re not, you’d better tell me. I’ll stop whenever you’re uncomfortable."

"I am," he said, more certainly then. He shifted up, pressing a kiss to Babet’s jaw. "I’ll stop you if I need to."

He smiled at him before moving to enter Montparnasse, being unusually careful. He kissed him as he entered, one hand moving to hold his hand rather than thread in his hair.

The stretch of him entering was an unfamiliar feeling, a feeling that made Montparnasse tense under him at first and squeeze his hand. He made himself focus on the kiss, on the feeling of Babet’s lips against his and the hand holding his own, until he relaxed again and the slight pain of him entering gave way to a dull, unfamiliar throb.

"How are you doing?" babet asked when he broke the kiss, watching him carefully.

Letting out a breath, Montparnasse looked up at him at the question, offering a nod. “M’good,” he said softly. “It’s good.”

"I promise, it’ll feel better once I start moving and you get used to it."

He nodded, brushing a thumb against Babet’s jaw lightly. “I trust you. I’m alright. It’s just unfamiliar is all.”

He smiled at the touch and leaned down to kiss him again, carefully moving inside of him.

The dull ache returned when he started moving at first, and Montparnasse closed his eyes, kissing him back softly. It gave way after a few slow thrusts, shifting into something more pleasurable, more heady. It drew a quiet, almost surprised moan from his throat.

"That’s it." Babet moved to kiss down his neck instead, gently nipping at his skin.

Montparnasse’s eyes fluttered open briefly when he shifted his attention to his neck, and he tilted his head back, giving another soft moan and shifting under him to hook a leg around his waist and draw him in deeper.

He bit into Montparnasse’s neck, not releasing until he tasted blood. He gently licked over his wound and placed a kiss on it.

The bite made him arch, the moan that sounded quite loud compared to the earlier ones. A hand wound into Babet’s hair, fingers curling into a grip.

He pressed his head against the hand in his hair, giving a small purr. He continued moving inside of him, letting go of Montparnasse’s hand in favor of touching him.

Montparnasse’s now free hand moved around to Babet’s back, fingertips curling just slightly. He gave a high, breathy moan when Babet started touching him again, which dropped of in a quiet whine as his hips rocked up to meet a thrust.

"I love the noises you make." Babet hummed before kissing him again.

Montparnasse flushed at the statement, looking up at him shyly before their lips met again, and he gave a small, pleased sound at the feeling. He reached out for one of Babet’s hands, dragging it up to his chest in a silent plea for attention there before settling his own against his neck again.

Babet hadn’t realized that Montparnasse actually wanted attention drawn to his chest and had been planning on trying to treat him as male as possible, but after the silent request he grasped one of his breasts and rubbed the nipple under his thumb before taking it into his mouth.

He hadn’t thought much on the action, honestly; he knew his own sensitivities, and he knew his chest was particularly so. The request had been instinctive more than anything else. He let out a shaky sigh at the brush of Babet’s thumb, gasping before letting out a high moan at the feeling of his mouth against it. Montparnasse arched his back slightly, pressing into it, before speaking, his voice half-wrecked and higher than usual in need. “Faster, please.”

Babet picked up his pace, smiling at the response he was getting from Montparnasse. He moved to pay attention to the other breast, gently kissing it before taking the nipple into his mouth once again.

Montparnasse whined softly when his attention shifted, flushing at the kiss before giving another high moan at the feeling. His hips shifted instinctively, rolling up to meet the other’s thrusts as his hand tightened in his hair.

"I’m close babe," Babet whispered, moving to nip on his ear, "You’re so good."

The praise made him flush, his breath hitching in his throat before he whined softly, whimpering his name as he tensed slightly around him in anticipation.

Babet called out his lover’s name when he came, his hand moving to thread through his hair.

Montparnasse moaned quietly at the feeling of Babet’s release, the hand in his hair making him shudder slightly. He continued to move his hips through the other’s orgasm before stilling under him, still short of breath as he turned his head to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

Babet, breathing heavily and hair running into his eyes, smiled down at Montparnasse. “How was that?”

Trailing a hand up, Montparnasse brushed Babet’s hair back from his face, giving him a shy smile and shifting up to kiss him softly. “Perfect.”

"Yeah?" He pulled out of Montparnasse and laid down next to him.

He nodded slightly, his muscles clenching at the empty feeling before he shifted, resting his head against Babet’s chest and taking one of his hands. “Yeah. It was really good. Better than I anticipated it would be.”

"Good." He put an arm around Montparnasse and glanced at the door when he heard the front door open. There were voices, and one of them was definitely his roommate.

Montparnasse glanced over at the door as well, pausing a moment before turning over onto his stomach, pulling a sheet over them and tangling their legs together. “Just in time,” he murmured quietly, pressing a kiss to Babet’s shoulder.

Babet smiled at this. “Yeah, guess so.”

"Wonder who’s with him." He fell silent for a moment, listening to the voices coming from the other side of the door before giving a hum. "S’not ‘Rel. Think it’s a girl."

"Yeah, definitely sounds like a girl to me. He never has a hard time finding someone to bring to his bed."

"Mm, of course. It’s the drummer thing." Draping an arm over Babet’s torso, Montparnasse started tracing a small pattern on his side.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" He glanced up at Babet, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled and gestured toward his hand. “You should be sleeping.”

Montparnasse glanced down at his hand, shrugging slightly. “I’ll sleep eventually,” he returned, continuing his pattern lazily. “I’m not tired yet. I’m still wound up, I suppose.”

"That should have made you tired." Babet said, curling against him. "I’m tired."

Montparnasse snorted softly, shrugging a shoulder. “It did make me kind of tired. But also still a little wound up. Orgasms make you tired. I can have several before I’m tired.”

"Oh." Babet rolled over so he was on his side. "Well you’re still young. I’m old."

He snorted at that, shaking his head. “You’re not old, shush. And it’s also a little bit a hormonal difference, dear.”

"I am old, but thanks for that." He flicked Montparnasse on the ear. "I’m going to sleep now."

Montparnasse scrunched his nose, sticking his tongue out at Babet. “I wouldn’t be in your bed if you were old. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up later.”

Babet frowned, but rather than arguing he just closed his eyes.

He curled closer then, settling comfortably and closing his own eyes. Before long, he drifted off to sleep.


	5. Grant You Your Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Harlequin and Les Amis meet

"Marius, where are my drumsticks?" Combeferre asked as he came into the main room of the bands latest gig, "I can't find them anywhere. Did you not bring any?"

 

"Oh, I brought them." Marius replied as he looked up from his paperwork, "I brought you three sets, because I know how you go through them. And I gave them to you."

 

"They're not here anymore." Combeferre complained, "Find them."

 

Marius sighed, "Can't you find them yourself? I'm trying to get the gig paperwork filled out before the other band gets here today."

 

"No. I already looked everywhere."

 

Marius groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck. Fine. I'll find them, just let me finish this."

 

Combeferre walked over to the couch and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest angrily.  
Courfeyrac was already lounging back in his own seat, snickering quietly at Combeferre's plight and flipping a pick between his fingers lazily. "You lose your sticks all the time. He'll find them."

 

It was the day that they would meet the opening band, or that the others would meet them really, for Courfeyrac knew one member, at least. It was bound to be an interesting day, given how stressed out Marius already sounded.

 

"You're wasting precious time on silly paperwork, Marius dear. We need the drumsticks for practice. Can't you do the paperwork after we have the drumsticks?"  
"No. Because it needs done before the other band gets here. And I'm hoping the longer I take, the more likely Combeferre is to get off his ass and look for his own drumsticks. You didn't happen to hide them, did you?"

 

Combeferre was glaring back and forth between Marius and Courfeyrac now.

  
Courfeyrac gave a mock offended look, though the way he was snickering made him appear no more innocent than he really was. "I wouldn't do that. God. I'm an innocent bunny. I am offended, Marius. Accusing me of theft."

  
"Where the fuck did you put them?" Combeferre sat up, his fists balling automatically, even though he would never punch his friend.

 

"All three pairs? Really, Courf? Please go get them. And if you don't know where they are, help Combeferre look for them. Please." Marius sighed.

  
"I'm serious this time! I didn't take them, Jesus." Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his feet with a sigh. "I don't even know where they would have wound up, it's not like this room is particularly big. Where did you have them last, Ferre?"

  
"I had them when we got here I swear. But I can't find them in the back room anywhere, and this room is too empty for them to be in here. Enjolras said he hadn't seen them either." Combeferre sighed and leaned back in his chair again.

  
Courfeyrac groaned, glancing around before heading over to the back room, grumbling under his breath. He returned a couple of minutes later, flopping onto the couch and lounging back. "I can't find them either."

  
"You've been gone for two minutes!" Marius sighed, "I guess at least you looked. Fine, I'll go search for them. I'm almost done with this paperwork anyway."

  
"Two minutes is long enough to look through that back room, there's nothing even back there," he returned, tucking his hand behind his head. "When's the other band gonna get here? I'm boooored."

  
"When aren't you bored? Idiot. You looked for two minutes What is Enjolras doing anyway?." Marius sighed, putting his pen down and moving to the back room.

  
"I'm not an idiot, jerk," he returned, poking his tongue out in Marius's direction before turning his attention back to Combeferre. "No idea where you left them at all, huh?"

  
"Nope." Combeferre replied, "Marius brought me a couple of pairs too. No idea where they got to." He shrugged. "I seriously can't find them though."

  
Courfeyrac snorted quietly, shaking his head. "The number of drumsticks that you go through is ridiculous, you know. They're fucking huge compared to a pick and you lose them constantly."

  
"They normally break." he admitted with a shrug. He looked up when Enjolras stepped into the room with his guitar. "Where is Marius?"

 

"Looking for my drumsticks," Combeferre answered, "Why?"

 

"He didn't tune my guitar yet." Enjolras explained angrily.

  
"Enjolras, you told him not to tune it earlier," Courfeyrac said with a sigh, starting to flip his pick between his fingers again. "You said you would do it when we got here."

  
"No I didn't!" Enjolras said defensively, "I told him I would tune my other guitar, not this one!"

  
"Did you specify which guitar? Because he probably thought you meant this one."

  
Enjolras opened his mouth to retort, and realizing he hadn't, he closed his mouth again and just silently fumed at Courfeyrac, glaring him down.

  
Courfeyrac just grinned back at Enjolras, looking entirely nonchalant at the glare he was receiving. "That's what I thought. S'your own fault this time."

  
"I'm going to fight you, I swear to God." Enjolras hissed, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

  
Courfeyrac just snickered, tucking his free hand behind his head and closing his eyes.

  
Musichetta, meanwhile, finally pulled up outside of the rehearsal space with the band, turning to look back at them. "Bahorel, Grantaire, you're not allowed cigarette breaks until at least two hours into rehearsal. No, you cannot bring your flask in with you. Yes, that includes the water bottle that I know is not water. Bossuet, please try not to break anything this time. I know it's not your fault, but please, we need to make a good impression here. Joly... Joly you're perfect, I have tissues if you get a nose bleed again. Alright. Are we good to go in?"

  
Joly smiled at her and nodded his head, picking up his guitar and opening the door, heading up to the rehearsal space happily.

  
Gesturing for the others to grab their instruments, Musichetta followed behind him, nudging his side. "Excited yet?"

  
"Oh I'm always excited." Joly replied, opening the door and walking into the main room.

  
Courfeyrac glanced up when the new people entered the main room, watching all of them enter one after another and then glanced toward the other doors when he heard his manager’s voice.

  
"Enjolras, no I did not tune your guitar, okay? I didn't tune it because you told me not to." Marius complained as he entered the room as the new people began to come in.

 

"I did ask you to do it, like you always do!" Enjolras complained, still dragging his guitar around with him.

 

"You told me that you would do it!"

 

"I said I would tune my other guitar and you would only have to tune the one I'm using today!" Enjolras whined.

 

Marius stopped in front of the new band when he noticed them and smiled. "Ah, hello. You're early. I'm Marius Pontmercy. You must be Musichetta, and this is the band. Nice to meet you."

  
Musichetta was already snickering by the time Marius stopped in front of them, but she smothered it as he introduced them, holding her hand out to him in greeting. "That'd be me. This is my band. Back there is Bahorel, the one with the bass is Bossuet, the one currently glaring at Bahorel is Grantaire, and the pleasant looking one is Joly. It's nice to meet you as well."

 

Grantaire turned when his name was mentioned, looking around Musichetta to see Marius and -- there was a gorgeous blond behind him, holding a guitar. It made him falter for a minute before clearing his throat and speaking up. "If you need help tuning, I can tune for you. It'll only take a minute."

  
"I don't need help tuning!" Enjolras insisted before Marius could even say anything, "I can tune it just fine, thank you very much! I just don't /want/ to tune it. It's Marius's job. It's what we pay him for. He should have had it done."

 

Enjolras stuck up his nose and turned, heading into the back room once again to tune his guitar.

 

Marius let out a long sigh before giving Musichetta a tired smile. "That was Enjolras, our lead. Over on the couch is Combeferre, the drummer, and the chair is Courfeyrac, the bassist. I'm sorry I'm so unprepared for you. Enjolras's guitar isn't tuned apparently, and Combeferre can't find his drumsticks. The paperwork isn't done yet, but it's pretty close. If I could just find those sticks."

  
Grantaire looked momentarily offended when Enjolras stuck up his nose, looking over at Bahorel with an expression of disbelief. The two turned their gaze back to Marius after a moment of silent conversation, shaking their heads. He put up with a lot, evidently. "Funny, I thought a manager was paid to make sure our gigs were booked, keep an eye on our repertoire, and occasionally run through tech checks. Musicians tune their instruments, or they pay a techie to do it," he muttered, drawing a snicker from Bahorel, who tapped Musichetta on the shoulder with a pair of drumsticks.

 

Musichetta, meanwhile, just gave a sympathetic smile to Marius, reaching over her shoulder to take the sticks without looking back at him. "Don't worry about it," she reassured. "It sounds like you've had a long afternoon. Here, Bear brought spare sticks, he can use these. We can just talk things over until Enjolras is tuned. And while you run through Harlequin's set with them to make sure it suits your band for an opener, I can finish off that paperwork for you."

  
"God. Thank you." Marius let out a sigh, taking the sticks. "It's been a long day. I personally like your band already, and I'm sure today's work won't be hard. It's just always like this. Nothing too bad, comparatively." Marius took the sticks over to Ferre, who snatched them out of his hand and examined them. "These aren't my sticks though." He complained.

 

"I know they're not," Marius sighed, "But please use them. Their drummer was kind enough to let you borrow them. I'll find your sticks when we clean up here, I promise."

 

Combeferre just shrugged and continued to examine the sticks.

 

Marius walked back over to Musichetta, this time holding the paperwork. "Like I said, it's almost done. I can probably finish it up quickly if your band wants to set up. I already set Combeferre's drums up, so we're ready for you besides this paperwork."

  
Musichetta, looked over the paperwork that he held up, giving a quick nod and gesturing to the others to set up. "They'll set up. They're already mostly tuned, it'll only take a minute or two to finish setting them up, and then we can get rolling." Glancing over at the drumset, she paused a moment before leaning in to speak to him quietly. "Did you really do the tech for the band on your own? That's... not the usual standard, you know."

  
Marius frowned at the comment and nodded his head ever so slightly. "I did. And I know. Not to be rude, of course, but I'll do my job and you do yours, yeah? I get paid good money for what I do. It's easier than having to watch over someone else doing it."

  
Musichetta nodded slightly, giving him a small smile. "I meant no offence. It just struck me as out of the norm, that was all."

  
"I do what I have to do." Marius sighed, "Please, get your band ready and I'll finish this paperwork." He walked over to the table and sat down again.

  
Bahorel made his way over to where Combeferre was seated, leaning against the edge of Coufeyrac's chair, who looked up at him with a wide grin and a playful, "Hey buddy. Long time no see."  
He snorted at the greeting, giving a nod and focusing back on Combeferre. "They're decent, I promise. Heavy duty, since I break mine constantly. You can keep that pair if you like how they play," he offered.

 

  
"Thanks." Combeferre said, looking up at Bahorel. "You two know each other?"

  
"Mm, we met a couple years ago at a bar," Courfeyrac explained, leaning against Bahorel's side.

 

Bahorel chuckled with a nod. "Courf got himself into a fight with a guy near twice his size. I kept him from getting his ass kicked. Which wound up being a rather regular occurrence when we were in the same bar."

 

Courf just gave him a cheeky grin.

  
"I see. Sounds like Courfeyrac."

  
Musichetta walked over to the others and gestured Bahorel over. Bahorel just gave a quick nod, ruffling Courfeyrac's hair before making his way over and taking a seat at the practice space's preset drumset to adjust the distances for himself.

 

Musichetta slipped her hands into her pockets, listening to them tune for a minute before shooting each a smile. "Remember the set. This is Gospel, There's A Good Reason, Lying, and Girls/Girls/Boys. They'll love it, I'm sure."

  
"That's good and all, but uhm, Chetta? My nose is bleeding again." Joly said after a moment, seeing blood dripping down onto his shirt. He had purposefully not worn white today for exactly this reason.  
Letting out a quiet tsk, she fished through her pockets, pulling out a small package of tissues and holding it out to him. "There are a couple spare shirts in the truck if you need one. I would offer to switch shirts this time, but mine's a little tighter than the last one was." Musichetta gave him a small, slightly playful grin, shaking her head.

  
Joly had to laugh at this, taking out a tissue and dabbing at his nose. "Thanks Chetta. I think I'm okay for now."

  
"You sure? Need anything else?" She looked between all of them, though the question was mostly directed toward Joly. Bossuet was more focused on his bass at the moment, specifically the cord that he had gotten his ankle tangled in, and she surged forward at the sight, setting one hand on his chest to keep him still before kneeling down to unwind his foot. "God, Boss, not already. Please be careful, we do not have the funds to get you a new bass again right now." Sighing, she straightened up, focusing back on Joly again, for Grantaire and Bahorel were chatting quietly between themselves near the drumset. "Anything at all, dear?"

  
Joly watched the scene between Bossuet and Musichetta in amusement before shaking his head. "I'm ready."

  
"Good." Looking between the others, she caught Grantaire's eye, getting a nod of assent from him, before leaning over and pressing a kiss to first Bossuet's and then Joly's cheeks. "Good luck."

 

She stepped back then, making her way over to Marius and leaning against the edge of the table he was seated at. "They're set to start whenever you're set, sir."

  
"Oh, God, please just call me Marius." He said as he looked up, "I think we're ready. My part of the paperwork is filled out."

  
Musichetta huffed out a soft laugh, nodding. "I can fill the rest of that out while you take a look then." Glancing toward the band, she watched Grantaire take a couple of steps away from Bahorel, settling on one side of Bossuet and waiting for Bahorel to give the four beat intro pound before stepping up to the mic and starting to sing. A grin crossed her face at the sight, and she took a seat beside Marius, snagging the paperwork to fill out her section.

 

Courfeyrac glanced over as he heard the band starting up, listening in silence for all of about thirty seconds before he spoke. "They sound good," he mused. "Better than I expected to be honest."

  
"Enjolras won't like them." Combeferre muttered in return, "He's not even coming out of the back room."

  
Courfeyrac just sighed, rolling his eyes. "He never likes anyone. He'll deal with it. We already told him we'll overrule him if he's an ass." Folding his hands on his stomach, he lounged more comfortably, kicking his feet up to rest on the table in front of him. "The singer looks shy though. Or uncomfortable. Or something like that. Like he doesn't want to be out front. He's got a good voice, though."  
"It's a better voice than I expected based on his appearance, that's for sure. Your drummer friend isn't as good as I am either."

  
Courfeyrac just snorted. "They're up and coming for a reason. And 'Rel's probably drunk already. They're not better than us, so E can't bitch about them too much, at least." Falling silent for a moment at a pause between songs, he spoke up before the next beat started up. "Relax. You look uncomfortable. It's just us, don't stress it so much."

 

Grantaire flushed at that, glancing back at Bahorel and then over at Musichetta before ducking his head and clearing his throat with a small mumble of thanks. Letting the next song start up, he sighed quietly, throwing himself as best into the song as he could.

 

Musichetta heard the exchange and looked over at Grantaire, frowning slightly as she noted what the other was speaking of. He did look much more uncomfortable than he ought to for a lead... But, then, this was an odd practice session. Perhaps he would relax given time. Glancing over at Marius, she slid the paperwork back to him now that it was finished. "Your singer hasn't returned from the back room yet," she noted.

  
"No, he hasn't." Marius replied, glancing at the door to the back room. "I'm sorry for his earlier comment. He can be hard to handle. He's probably still upset that he had to tune his own guitar today. I want him to hear your band, but he has to come out on his own."

  
Musichetta just waved a hand at the apology, giving him an easy smile. "It's quite alright. If worse comes to worse, they can play something later, after yours has run through their set, if he wants to hear them. I would assume he can probably hear them through the door to the back room, though."

  
"He probably can, but I meant that I wanted him to see them. He's just...picky, I suppose. He's worse than the other two combined. And he's always angry. Yet your band is so well behaved."

  
Musichetta huffed out a laugh at that, shaking her head. "Oh no, no. They're not well behaved in the least. They just appear that way because they're not difficult during rehearsals when they want to make an impression. See, there's Grantaire." She pointed out the lead singer. "Who's always drunk and just came out of rehab before they hired me. He's also the songwriter for the group, though, and he plays... more instruments than I can think of. Bahorel," she pointed out the drummer. "He's also nearly always drunk, and he gets into fights constantly. I've had to bail him out of jail once already and I've only been with them for a couple of months. Bossuet," she pointed to the bassist. "He's an utter clutz and terribly unlucky. We had to buy him a new bass out of band money. And then there's Joly." She pointed out the rhythm guitarist, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips. "He's perfect."

  
"Perfect?" Marius raised an eyebrow, "I wish I could say that about any of my band members. All three of them don't listen, throw fits, and say mean things. I can't handle them half of the time. They're insane."

  
"Perfect. He has a penchant for nosebleeds at inopportune moments, but he's very sweet and he's always in a good mood." She snorted softly at the description of his band, though, shaking her head. "Sounds like you've got your hands full there. If I can do anything to assist with that during the tour, just let me know."

  
At that moment, Enjolras came out of the back room and sat down next to his bandmates.

  
Grantaire's eyes were drawn over to Enjolras when he entered the room again, though he continued to sing despite the blond's sudden entrance mid-song. As that one came to an end, he took a deep breath, looking back toward Bahorel and giving a nod to launch into the next one without much pause.

  
Combeferre looked up when Enjolras sat down, and E ran a hand through his blond curls, staring at Grantaire for a moment before looking over at his friends. "So?"

  
Courfeyrac tilted his head slightly as he watched the band starting their next song, shrugging a shoulder. "They sound good. Not as good as us, but good. The lead lacks, but... It's not too bad."

  
"He's not very showy. Not interesting. Not like you, E." Combeferre added.

  
Enjolras gave him a smile before turning back to watch Grantaire once more.

  
Grantaire was making an attempt, at least, at putting on something of a show. He was warming up now, moving a little more, interacting with the other band members, but... It still lacked, looked awkward and a little uncertain, and the sight made Courfeyrac sigh quietly. "Well we know they won't outshine us, at least," he mused. The third song finished off and they delved right into the fourth, not giving any pause this time.

  
Courfeyrac rolled his eyes at that, shaking his head. "And why don't you like them precisely?"

  
"I don't think they're that great sounding, to be honest." Enjolras said with a shrug.

  
Courfeyrac just shook his head, glancing over when he heard the song drawing to a close. "Be nice to them. They're opening for us," he mumbled, shooting a grin at Grantaire when the room fell silent.

  
"I am being nice." Enjolras said, frowning at Courfeyrac, "Besides, it's too late to get someone else. They'll do, I guess."

 

"That's the closest to approval anyone will get from Enjolras." Combeferre laughed.

  
The comment was loud enough to be heard across the room, and Courfeyrac just stayed silent, waiting for a response from the others. Grantaire felt like the wind had been kicked out of him; he had thought they'd done pretty well, considering his nerves and the new environment...

 

Bahorel was the first to respond, simply tossing his drumsticks down and getting to his feet before walking out of the practice space. Musichetta sighed quietly, pinching the bridge of her nose.  
Combeferre stopped laughing and sat up when he heard the drumsticks tossed. He immediately looked defensive.

 

"What was that?" Marius asked, sounding worried. He had taken Enjolras's words as a compliment as well, since he was used to how Enjolras acted.

  
"I think it was the 'It's too late to get someone else' part," Musichetta murmured, shaking her head slightly. "It's not exactly a pleasant statement. And... That's the best they've sounded in a while."

 

Grantaire sighed quietly, moving to fetch the drumsticks off of the ground and slip them into his pocket. He dragged his phone out from the other side then, sending a quick text and leaning against the wall behind the drumkit.

  
Marius sighed, "I'm sorry. I liked them. That was a compliment from Enjolras's standpoint. Please don't quit on us."

  
"It's alright, we're not quitting," Musichetta assured quickly, shaking her head. "Bahorel is also just... temperamental. It'll be fine." Glancing toward the others, she gave a quick nod and an attempt at an encouraging smile. "I'll deal with him later."

  
"He shouldn't have said that. I'm so sorry." Marius stood up and walked over to his band, whispering into Enjolras's ear. Enjolras looked like he was about to hit him by the time he walked away, obviously having just been scolded like a child. Combeferre had relaxed again, watching the others with interest.

  
"I liked them well enough. Doesn't my opinion count for anything?"

  
"It's okay, honestly. It's not like it's the worst criticism we've had," she reassured with a small smile. "Your opinion does count, yes, it counts for a lot. It's alright, don't worry about it." Grantaire nodded from where he leaned against the wall, giving a small, thankful smile before focusing back down on his phone. "See? Totally fine."

  
"What did you think?" Combeferre let his eyes slide over to Courfeyrac as Marius walked back over to Musichetta. "Thank you."

  
Courfeyrac hummed quietly, nodding. "I liked it. It's a little strange a sound, but it's good."

 

Grantaire relaxed a little at that, glancing at Joly and Bossuet before shooting them a quick smile. "Thanks."

  
"We outrule you Enjolras. They're staying. If their drummer comes back." Combeferre moved to put his feet on Enjolras's lap, but the blond stood angrily and marched back to the back room.

  
Courfeyrac rolled his eyes as he watched Enjolras go, and Grantaire sighed quietly, dragging a hand through his hair. "Is he gonna pitch a fit if we show up on the day of the tour, given he doesn't seem to want us? Because he's kind of your lead singer and if he's going to, then maybe we shouldn't take it."

  
"Nah, he's mad at me now, and probably Marius too. Not you. He likes you better than the last group we had touring with us. He insulted them right away. Enjolras's comment wasn't really an insult for him." Combeferre explained before Marius got a chance to. "We want you here. You're going to gain so much fame for opening for us, man. Just think about it."

  
That thought drew a small smile to Grantaire's face, at least, and he glanced in the direction of the back room one more time before focusing on Combeferre with a nod. "You guys have gotten pretty popular over the last couple tours, as far as I've heard," he returned. "It'll be good for us."

  
"Yeah. We're popular. People love us." Combeferre laughed, "People will love you too. Give them time. You need to work on your stage appearance though."

  
Grantaire nodded slightly at that, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I'm awkward looking on stage, I know. I'm not really sure how to fix that yet, though."

 

Courfeyrac hummed quietly, nodding. "You're just tense, it looks like. You're always tense. It'd be more smooth if you relaxed."

  
"Maybe you're just nervous about performing for us?" Combeferre suggested.

  
"Maybe." He shrugged, rockning back on his heels and glancing toward Musichetta, who gave a small nod. "Maybe it'll ease up once we're actually on the tour, I dunno."

  
"Maybe. Don't let Enjolras get to you though."

  
Grantaire nodded slightly, giving a half-smile. "He's not an easy person to deal with, I take it."

  
"Nope. Never. But we get by." Combeferre winked.

  
He snorted quietly at that, shaking his head. "This'll be a fun tour then."

  
Combeferre just smirked at this comment, while Marius sighed.

  
Musichetta patted Marius's shoulder lightly, giving him a sympathetic smile. "It'll be fine. I'll keep my boys in line, promise."

  
"I can't make the same promise, but I can try."


	6. No Mercy from the Edge of the Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Bahorel and Gueulemer give you even more information on the background of the bands

After texting Musichetta to let her know he was going out for the evening and that he would be at rehearsal the next morning, Bahorel headed out to a familiar bar, taking up his usual seat and tapping on the counter for what the bartender would know as his usual drink. He sent out a quick text then.

[text: G] you should come drinking

[text: G] im at the usual place

Without even bothering to respond, Gueulemer showed up within the next hour and sat down at the bar next to Bahorel. "Hey Bear." he said as he waved at the bartender, "What's wrong with you?"

Bahorel gave a nod when Gueulemer sat beside him, snorting at the question. "We met the band we're touring with today. That's all."

"Oh man, Les Amis, right?" He took a drink when the bartender brought his usual over.

He groaned, nodding. "That's right. The other two don't seem too bad, but the fucking lead. Christ."

"Enjolras." Gueulemer laughed, "He's a dick. I hate his guts, but not as much as Babet does."

"He basically said it's too late for them to get someone else, so we'll due. and according to their drummer, it's the closest to a compliment he gives."Bahorel sighed quietly, taking a long sip of his drink and leaning against the bar. "It's gonna be a fucking long tour man."

"Don't even talk about their drummer. I'll talk about Enjolras though. I know a lot about this band, if you want to know anything. It's going to be a long tour for you though, yeah." He laughed.

Bahorel sighed louder at that, shaking his head. "If this wasn't paying as well as it's paying and if Chetta hadn't already overruled and threatened to replace me, I would say it's not worth it. They seem like such dicks."

"Ouch. That hurts. But at least you're getting good money." He shrugged, "You could spend the tour harassing them, you know. Just fucking play pranks on them. I bet Grantaire would be up for it."

The suggestion drew a grin to his face, and Bahorel hummed quietly, tapping his chin. "We could. I bet it would piss them off constantly. I don't mind their bassist, I've saved him from a few bar fights over the last couple years. I bet I could talk him into helping too."

"No man. You gotta play pranks on him too. They're all brats. He'll get so pissed, it'll be funny."

"It could make tour more interesting. Or it could get us kicked off of the tour too."

"It's too late for them to find a new band, Enjolras even said so." Gueulemer pointed out.

"Valid. They could opt out of keeping an opener though. I'm pretty sure from the way he reacted to us, he doesn't want an opener at all."

"Knowing him, he probably doesn't." he admitted, "Maybe the other two do though. If you prank the other two using the bassist, you could probably get away with it without getting fired. Prank that drummer good, for the sake of all us good drummers out there."

Bahorel snickered at that, shaking his head. "Is he that bad? I haven't even listened to any of their music, to be honest, I walked out of rehearsal before we heard them."

"Well he's not up to our standard, that's for sure, my friend." He finished off his drink and signaled the bartender over for another.

He sighed, finishing off his own drink and giving a similar signal just after Gueulemer's. "Lovely. They act awful high and mighty for a band of questionable talent."

"Well they're definitely not as good as the Patron-Minette. I was just being kind to you, friend."

He snorted. "Thanks for that. I figured they're not as good as you guys, though, given they're still just attempting to compete. They're getting by on being pretty, I'm guessing. We'll see how they actually are when the time comes."

"Maybe you should have stayed to hear them play?"

"Neh, I'm not concerned. I'll see them at the next rehearsal. I was making a point by walking out, and I think it was made. Maybe the lead will be less of a dick next time now."

"I wouldn't count on that. He's always a dick. Their manager can't even control them."

"Encouraging. And I thought we were bad sometimes. Christ."

"Don't become friends with their drummer and replace me."

"Because that's likely." Bahorel rolled his eyes, nudging Gueulemer's ankle with his foot.

"Hey, I'm just saying."

"It won't happen, don't worry. If anything, I'll be texting you most of the tour bitching."

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"When's your tour starting?"

"Uh, a couple months from now I think. But really. You need to prank the fuck out of them and take a lot of pictures and send them to me."

Bahorel laughed, nodding. "I can do that. Ah, they'll be pissed for so much of the tour. It'll be satisfying."

Gueulemer smirked at this and nodded his head slightly. "Good. It'll make your tour more entertaining, I'm sure."

Tipping his head back to take a long sip of his drink, he hummed quietly."So tell me. What should I know about the brats, before tour starts?"

"Well. What do you want to know, is the question. I know most about the drummer. His name is Etienne Combeferre. Rich, just like the other two. His parents are doctors. He's also blind without his glasses on."

A pleased sound escaped Bahorel's throat. "So if I happened to just accidentally take his glasses one morning and make them disappear. He would be blind for a day. That's satisfying to know. Is he actually a good drummer, or did they get by just on their parents money to get going?"

Gueulemer smirked, "Exactly my thoughts. And I'd have to say a little of both. He's good, but no where near as good as me of course. You have nothing to worry about there, I think you're just as good as he is."

Bahorel chuckled quietly at that, shaking his head. "Of course, not as good as you. Of course. I'll have to pay attention to him next rehearsal. I might have to try and out-do him."

"Take his glasses before rehearsal and offer to take his place for a song or two." Gueulemer winked.

Snickering, he nodded. "How pissed would he be. Oh man. That would be perfect."

"Exactly. He also has a tattoo artist here in town that he's been going to for a while, and I finally found his contact info. I'm going to start going too, I think, just to see what information I can get. Scout this place out."

"His sleeves are pretty nice. He found a good artist, at least. You can probably get at least some kind of information from him, I'm sure. It's hard not to start talking while you're getting tattooed, assuming the artist's friendly."

"I already have an appointment scheduled. I'm excited to see what the guy has to offer, if you get what I mean."

Bahorel snorted quietly at that, nodding. "Of course you are. Hopefully he's good, and he has a lot to say."

"He's supposed to be good, so he'd fucking better be."

"His work on what's-his-face looked good, so I'd imagine it's as good as his look. What're you getting this time around?"

"You know, I haven't thought about it. What should I get?" Bahorel huffed out a laugh at that, shrugging a shoulder.

"Go simple to start. Get like. Drum sticks on your shoulder or something. Or your band's logo, that's a good go-to. He might even recognize the band."

"Good idea. If he recognizes the band, though, he may not talk about Les Amis."

"Or he might talk about them more. Either way."

"You're right. Dunno if I can take the chance though."

"I would take the chance. Butter him up while you're getting inked, easiest way to get an artist to open up is to compliment their shit. He'll tell you something soon enough, I'm sure."

"Got it. Well that'll solve my problems, for the most part. How're you feeling about going back into rehearsal tomorrow?"

"Ugh." Bahorel let out a sigh, finishing off his drink and gesturing the bartender over for another. "I love the band and all, but man, I don't look forward to dealing with the brats. And Chetta might have my head if I'm not nicer this time."

"Did you know that their manager does everything for them? He tunes their instruments and keeps track of them, sets them up, everything."

"I noticed that, since the lead was bitching about his guitar not being tuned when we got into rehearsal and the drummer had lost his sticks. Just. What the fuck is that, dude? That's shitty. Our manager is constantly busy just with calling about gigs and shit, how does theirs even have time for that? He's being treated as a techie."

"He's constantly busy, and word is that they pay him shit, too. He was fresh out of school when they hired him so he didn't know any better, and the bands too famous for him to just quit now."

"That's... pretty fucked up, christ. We pay Chetta the top we can afford to right now. With promise of a raise if we get more popular during tour and start making more money. Their poor manager."

"Hell, Eponine doesn't even do anything and we pay her. So I feel bad for him. Use this information to your advantage, man."

"I can probably find a way to do that. Poor dude." He shook his head slightly, sipping at his drink before speaking again. "Speaking of Eponine. She's still not doing anything, huh? Even now that you guys are more busy?"

"She does a little, but Mont normally does everything."

"Mm. Kid's got some kind of energy. It's impressive."

"He's fucking weird. Babet is obsessed with him, I swear. He never shuts up."

Bahorel snorted, shaking his head. "Weird how? And he's that smitten, huh?"

"I dunno. There's just something that stands out as different about him that I never liked much, but Babet is completely and utterly in love with him. It's sickening."

"Maybe Babet knows what's different about him. And that's what drew him in. Who knows, man."

"They're both fucking weird, how about that?"

Bahorel chuckled, shrugging. "Good notion. You're the one who's besties with Babet, man."

"I tried really hard not to be. He's persistent."

"Did you? Did you _really_ though?"

"We were just drinking buddies at first. And then it got to the point that we were sleeping together when we couldn't find anyone else. And then he said, "Hey I'm starting a band" and I said, "Well I play drums" and here we are today."

Bahorel just stared at him silently for a moment before laughing and ducking his head. "The progression of your friendship is fucking beautiful."

"It's a true story too." He kicked back his drink before standing up and stretching. "Well, I should get going, unless you have anything important to add."

Finishing off his drink, Bahorel stood as well, shaking his head. "Drive safe. I'll probably text you tomorrow about the brats during rehearsal." He gave Gueulemer a quick grin, patting down his pockets for his keys before fishing them out.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be happy to hear it. I love hearing horror stories about Les Amis."


	7. Children Roam the Streets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Jehan is introduced into the series

Seventh Level Tattoo was a shop in the heart of Paris, and easily one of the best shops in the city. Small, with only two tattoo artists and a piercing artist, their prices were some of the lowest, and their work of the highest quality. The most popular artist in the shop, especially as of late, was none other than Jean Prouvaire, an increasingly well-known artist for several up-and-coming musicians.  
  
That afternoon, the buzz of his tattoo gun filled the shop over the sound of a gritty rock band, whose music Jean was singing along to in the absence of conversation from his subject. He had attempted to garner conversation from the girl, a pretty blonde in need of a fresh dye job to hide her dark roots, but she had opted for silence instead while he worked on her foot.  
  
Dragging a paper towel over the skin as he finished up his last line, Jean looked over the piece before giving the girl a smile and a nod. "And you're all set, miss Cosette. If you take pictures of this and post them online, just tag us in the picture and we'll add it onto my section of the shop's page. Use A&D Ointment for at least two weeks, don't peel the skin when it gets to the peely itchy stage, and if you need a touch up, come on back in and I'll take care of it for free."  
  
The blonde gave him a wide smile, looking over the piece as he wrapped it in plastic before sliding her flat back on and heading out of the shop after a quick pause at the counter to leave behind a decent sized tip.  
  
Watching her go, Jean set about cleaning off his gun and the chair she had been in, calling up to the front, "Any more appointments for the day?" Receiving an answer in he negative, he nodded, calling back a quick thanks and moving to start working on a sketch for a relatively new client who had called in a couple of days prior with a general idea.

The little bell over the door rang out as Combeferre came into the shop. The man looked around the room, waiting for his eyesight to adjust behind his dark glasses before stepping forward to the counter. He had been to the place before. In fact, this was where he had gotten his first tattoo. "Yo, Jehan." he said after a moment, purposefully pronouncing the man's name incorrectly. It was a loving sort of mispronunciation, of course. He had heard others do it before too, so Jean must not have minded it too much.

There was a familiar voice, an even further familiar mispronunciation of his name, and Jean glanced up from his sketchbook to see Combeferre standing there at the counter, a sight which drew a small grin to his face. "Hey stranger," he returned, glancing back at his page for a moment and finishing up a line before getting to his feet. "You're right in time. I just finished up my last scheduled appointment for the day."

"Good timing. Guess they just knew I was coming." He flashed Jean a smile before holding his arm out to him. "I'm thinking maybe just here to here today on my sleeve. I don't have much time, I've got rehearsal early and all day tomorrow."

Looking over the area that Combeferre pointed out, Jean glanced at the outline work that had been done around it before giving a nod and a charming smile. "That we can do. You can head out whenever, Clemence, I'll close up when we leave. Clock in that you worked a full day." He gave the girl near the counter, who had called back the time to him earlier, a nod before gesturing Combeferre toward the back.  
  
He pointed out a chair, moving over to the stereo to flip through his iPod and direct it toward something lighter than he had been listening to earlier before turning the volume down a bit. "Prepping for your next tour, yeah?" Jean questioned as he made his way back over to him, turning a knob to recline the seat that Combeferre was in and fetching a pair of rubber gloves to pull on.

"Yeah." Combeferre replied, "We got an opening band, finally, so we're rehearsing with them. Because our tour starts in a month we've got to rehearse like fucking crazy."

Jean nodded slightly, looking over ink colors before setting out a small tray with several holders in it and adding a mix of shades into them. "I'm surprised Enjolras let you pick an opening band," he said, giving Combeferre an amused look. Content with the colors he'd set out, he fetched a pen and an alcohol swab, moving to sit on the stool beside Combeferre's seat and dragging the swab over the area he wanted worked on. "Who did you end up picking, and are they any good?"

"Shit I don't even remember their name. It starts with an H." Combeferre replied, "Enjolras was really pissed about it and he hates them, but Marius, Courfeyrac and I outvoted him. He can't deny the voting system. Or well, I guess he can. But we do what we want anyway. So far he's still cooperating, but we'll see how tomorrow goes."

Jean snorted quietly, shaking his head slightly. "Can't remember your opening band's name. Impressive," he teased softly, starting to fill in the empty space between what he had worked on during the last couple of sessions with the pen. Glancing toward the door when he heard it ding, the sign that Clemence had left, he narrowed his eyes to make sure the door was locked before focusing back on his arm again. "Why is he so pissed about it anyway? It's a sign that you're getting popular that you need an opening band."

"He thinks it takes attention away from him. He always needs attention. Probably something about not getting enough as a child." Combeferre laughed. "He chose the band because he thought the lead singer wouldn't upstage him. He's pretty right. He's not great to look at, and he seems really nervous on stage."

Rolling his eyes at the explanation, Jean gave a small grin regardless, humming quietly. "He's such a brat, jesus. Of course that's why he chose them. This is the first time you've seen them, though, yeah? They /are/ an opening band. The lead singer's issue is probably a mix of nerves and being kind of new. That'll ease up eventually, I'm sure. It's more about how they sound anyway."

"They're not bad. Drummer seems pretty good at least." Combeferre offered, "I think it will all go alright. Enjolras is just being ridiculous. Like usual."

Jean snickered quietly, shaking his head. "Of course. Maybe he'll ease up once he's heard them more than once. Or when there's a good reception on the tour." Pausing a moment, he leaned back in his seat, looking over what he'd drawn in before setting the pen aside and switching on his gun. "On second thought," he mused over the buzzing as he wrapped his ring and pinky finger in a paper towel and dipped the end of the gun into the black ink. "Knowing how you've described Enjolras, that's highly unlikely."

"He never calms down. He's always like that. Always. I wish we could find some way to calm him down, anyway. It would be less of a headache on all of us. But I doubt anyone will ever be able to do that." Combeferre mused.

"Of course. Maybe if he gets laid, he'll chill out. That usually does it for most people." It was only a half-joking suggestion, really. Shifting the tray of ink closer to the stool he sat on, Jean dragged his free hand over the drawn-on patch of skin before bringing the gun close and pausing. "Set to start?"

"Enjolras? Ha. Yeah right. He sleeps with no one, believe it or not." He cracked his knuckles before nodding his head, splaying his arm for the artist.

Jean just raised an eyebrow at that, shifting his hand slightly before starting to fill in the lines he'd drawn. "How on earth does he not?" he questioned, shaking his head slightly. "He could probably have damn near anyone he wanted in his bed and yet he doesn't?"

"I don't understand him either. He's so pretty he could have literally anyone, even without being a rock star, right? But no. He just doesn't do that kind of stuff I guess."

"I suppose not. That's... a little surprising. I wouldn't have anticiapted that." Humming quietly, Jean narrowed his eyes to focus better on Combeferre's arm for a minute before speaking again. "Especially not given how you've described Courfeyrac."

"Courfeyrac is the exact opposite of Enjolras in almost every aspect." Combeferre laughed.

Jean chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "Evidently. It sounds like it makes rehearsals amusing for everyone but your poor manager."

"Marius gets over it. He gets paid, he does what he's supposed to."

"Mm, of course. As a good manager should do. He's got to be on the stressed side right now, with how close your tour is."

"He's always stressed. He needs to just relax. Maybe he's the one who needs a good fuck. Unfortunately for him, he's not really my type."

Jean snorted quietly at that, quirking an eyebrow with a small grin. "No? And what is your type then?"

"I prefer blonds with long hair, to be honest. Feminine looking guys." He honestly had Enjolras in mind as he spoke, not quite realizing that he had also managed to describe the man sitting in front of him for the most part.

Glancing up toward his own hair - a strawberry blonde shade that was pulled back into a messy ponytail - Jean raised the eyebrow slightly higher, smirking back at him. "Is that so?" he mused, reaching over for a water bottle with his free hand and spraying the paper towel on his hand before dragging it lightly over the lines he'd already done to clean it up a bit.

"Yeah." he replied, looking over at Jehan. "It would be a stupid thing to lie about."

Jean chuckled quietly, shaking his head slightly. "Noted." Returning the gun to the other's skin, he leaned in closer before speaking again. "I prefer the big, strong, and masculine type myself."

"Mm, are you hitting on me?" Combeferre asked with a sly laugh.

He smirked slightly at that. "I might be."

He adjusted his sunglasses on his face with his free hand. "Mhm, of course. You might be."

"Well if I said yes, that would be too simple, wouldn't it?" he returned.

"Nothing can be too simple."

Jean chuckled softly at that, shaking his head. "Then I suppose that's a yes. I'm most definitely hitting on you."

Combeferre laughed at this. "That's better."

"Of course it is," he said, grinning back. "I'm willing to bet it's not uncommon for you to get hit on though, dear."

"It's really not. Drummers get all the girls they want, didn't you know that?"

Jean snorted quietly, shaking his head. "I didn't know that, actually. But it's good to know for future reference."

"It just comes with being a drummer. Especially a drummer of a big band."

"Of course. There's just something appealing about a drummer. Might be the strength factor."

"Hmm. Maybe it is. I never really thought about it."

"You wouldn't have to, would you?"

"Have to what? Think about it?"

"Yes. You don't have to think on what it is that makes you attractive, just enjoy the benefits of it."

Combeferre laughed at this. "I guess you're right. I'm lucky."

Jean hummed, giving him a grin and swiping the paper towel over his skin again. "You most certainly are."

The drummer laughed again, but didn't say anything more for the moment.

Falling silent for a bit while he worked, Jean finished up the outline, turning away from him to clear the gun after he'd cleaned the skin carefully. "Take a look, I'll start coloring in when you're ready to get going again."

"It looks really good. You're the best at what you do." Combeferre commented as he looked over his arm, "I don't need to take a break. I'm fine. I should leave soon though."

Jean flushed lightly at the compliment, huffing out a soft laugh. "You're sweet. Thanks." Looking over the finished outline, he gave a nod. "If you have time for another session before you leave, I can fill this halfway in now and do the rest before you go," he offered. His hand halted over the colored parts of ink, though, waiting for his response.

Combeferre thought it over before nodding his head. "Alright. Lets try that."

Jean gave a bright smile at that, turning slightly to look over what he'd done before dipping the end of the gun into the lighter blue ink that he'd laid out. Moving back, he hovered a moment to let him prepare before starting to fill it in. "Just heading back home tonight when we're done?" he questioned.

"I intended on it." Combeferre replied, "Sounds boring for a rock star, I know. But I have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

He chuckled softly at that. "Would you like to grab dinner with me? I know a pretty small diner about a block down from here that's good."

"Really?" He paused, just trying to give himself an air of thought even though he already intended on accepting. "Hm, alright. It beats eating at home."

Jean grinned at the acceptance, nodding slightly. "Lovely. It's a pretty nice place, and they discount if you come in right from the shop."

"I see." Not that he cared about getting any sort of discount. "If you say its nice, I trust you."

"Mm, good." Giving a bright smile, Jean focused on his arm in silence for a bit, pulling away to switch colors. "This sleeve is almost done now. There's still half of the other left, but this one's only got your inner forearm left."

"Damn, you're the best at this Jean. I wouldn't go to anyone but you."

He blushed lightly at that, huffing out a soft laugh. "You're sweet. I do try."

"Hey. It's true. No being sweet here."

"Oh no, of course not." Jean rolled his eyes at that, moving back and filling in again. "I don't know that I'm the best, dear. I'm good, but not the best."

"I think you are. Look at these sleeves. They're great, I don't think anyone could have done them better."

That just made him grin, shaking his head slightly. "You flatter me."

"Hey. It's true. I bet the fucking opening band is jealous of them, for sure." He winked.

Jean chuckled quietly, blushing at the wink and grinning wider. "They'd better be. These have taken hours of work. They're easily my best pieces."

"They look like it. Perfect."

"I'm almost disappointed to be almost finished with them. You'll have nothing to bring you back after that."

"Oh, I'm sure I can find another reason to come back."

That made him grin. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Maybe I'll commission something on my back next." Combeferre adjusted his glasses with his free arm.

Jean hummed softly, nodding. "Back pieces are fun. Something music-related, or?"

"I'm thinking moths, as strange as that sounds."

"Moths?" He quirked an eyebrow, glancing up from his arm for a moment while he switched colors. "Like... A line of moths along your spine, or like. A vine design with moths?"

"What do you think would look better?"

Jean was silent for a minute, thinking it over, before speaking. "A line of moths would be more unique. Vine designs and butterflies are a common trend for lower back tattoos with the girls around here. A line of moths gives room for more variation in design."

"A line of moths it is, then."

"When I'm not working on pieces for other people, I can start getting some sketches together for it."

"Sweet. You're the best."

"Mm, I try." Finishing off the last color, Jean dragged the paper towel over the area lightly before switching his gun off and getting to his feet to fetch the needed ointment and a cover for it. "I'll finish this section up when you come in next, and then you'll only have the inner forearm left to do next time," he said, moving back and carefully coating the area with the ointment he'd retrieved. "Usual deal, make sure you use the A&D, don't peel it, blah blah blah. You know the deal."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Combeferre looked over his new work and nodded. "Nice. We're almost done. It's a good feeling."

"It is. I'm excited to see it finished. It's a really good piece. And it's been commented on more and more lately in articles."

"Has it? I haven't noticed. Don't read them." He lied, he read almost everything about himself, "You deserve it though."

"It has. It's... It's nice. I'm getting mentioned, so I've gotten more work lately. I have a few new people coming in for consultations this week, actually." Wrapping the area he'd worked on in a simple cover, Jean pulled off his gloves and tossed them, setting about cleaning up. "I appreciate how much notice you've gotten me."

"You're welcome." he said smugly, "Comes from being famous. Everyone around you is famous too."

"I suppose so," he said with a soft chuckle. "I'm not quite famous yet, though, dear. Just a little more known."

"Close enough. I don't remember what it was like not being famous, to be honest."

Jean laughed, shaking his head. "It's kind of boring, in my opinion."

"You'll get your picture in the tabloids if we go out together, you know."

"Mm, will I?" He grinned, shrugging a shoulder. "Might be good for business."

"Maybe. Maybe it will do nothing."

"Of course. We'll see, I suppose." Finishing up, Jean gestured toward the front of the shop, heading to his desk to fetch his phone, wallet, and keys.

Combeferre headed to the door and paused at the entrance, turning around to wait.

Locking up the register and a lockbox under the counter, Jean took a quick look around before giving Combeferre a nod and gesturing for him to lead the way out of the shop. Ensuring he'd locked the door behind him, he slipped his hands into his pockets, turning to the right and starting to walk toward a small diner whose sign was visible from where they were.

"I don't have a shit ton of time on my hands tonight." he reminded Jehan gently.

"I know dear. It won't take long."

"Just...making sure."

"Don't worry, I won't keep you out late. I know you have a lot to do tomorrow." Giving him a smile, Jean stepped up to the diner door, pulling it open and gesturing him inside. "After you."

Combeferre walked in and looked around, a few people looking up and staring. If anything, they were probably staring because he was wearing sunglasses inside, was large built, and had almost full sleeves, not because they recognized him. "It's small. You were right."

He chuckled at that, nodding slightly. "It is. But it's nice, I promise." Offering a quick wave to the waitress, Jean led Combeferre over to a table near a corner of the room, taking the seat near the wall and settling comfortably. "Menu's there, everything's pretty good."

"You come here often, then?" He asked as he flipped open a menu.

"Mm, once a week or so. Usually when I'm working late."

"They seem to know you here."

"They do. The owner's daughter is one of my best friends, actually."

"And that would be why you stop by here, I imagine. And why you only have good things to say about it."

Jean chuckled at that, nodding. "That would be precisely why."

"What should I order?" He asked, still looking down at the menu.

"Mm, the chili is fantastic. And the shepherd's pie is always good too."

"Hmm. I'll probably order the chili, then." He flipped the menu closed and gave Jean a smile.

Jean offered a smile back and a nod. "Good choice." Just then, the waitress came over, offering Jean a familiar grin before speaking. "Good afternoon, my name is Adele and I'll be your server. Can I get you anything to drink, or are you set to order already?"

"I think I'm ready. I assume you are as well?" Combeferre raised an eyebrow at Jehan.

"Mm, I'm set. My usual, 'Dele." The girl nodded, jotting down a couple things quickly. "Iced coffee and shepherd's pie, then. And for you?"

"Can I have a water and the chili, please?" Combeferre was being unusually polite because of Jehan's presence.

Adele nodded, jotting those down and giving a smile. "I'll be back with your drinks in a moment, and your food will be up shortly." Jean watched her walk away before focusing back on Combeferre.

Combeferre took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes before putting them back on, not sure what to talk about. It was kind of weird to hang out with his tattoo artist after hours. He couldn't deny that the man was good looking though.

Folding his hands in front of him, Jean lounged back more comfortably, running through topics in his head before finally settling on returning to talking about music. Easy conversation, a mutual interest. "Have you managed to out do the Minette yet?" he questioned, tilting his head slightly.

Combeferre laughed sarcastically. "Those bastards are still kicking. I hate 'em, but we can't seem to get rid of them. People still love them for some strange reason."

That drew a grin to Jean's lips, and he shook his head slightly. "They cater to the right crowd. They're gritty, it's appealing to some people. And they're all over the tabloids."

"I think its the tabloids that get people to follow them. They're all fucking each other and fucking anyone else they can possibly find." Combeferre rolled his eyes.

He quirked an eyebrow, glancing at Adele with a smile as she set their drinks down and headed to another table before speaking again. "Those are the rumors, anyway."

"I'm pretty positive they're true. I know a bit about them, I've talked with the Minette before."

"Are they as shady as they're made out to be, then?"

"Pretty much."

Jean just laughed at that, shaking his head slightly. "And yet, so popular."

"They're different. I think that's what makes them popular."

"Mm, probably. I do like their style, I have to admit."

Combeferre frowned at this, but didn't say anything.

"I said their style, dear, that's all. I haven't listened to much outside of just appeasing curiousity. They came up on my Pandora station a couple weeks ago while I was sketching."

"I see."

"Yes." Nudging Combeferre's ankle lightly, Jean grinned. "I've got your band on rotation in my shuffle too, it's just lighter than what usually pops up."

"Yeah, Enjolras can't do heavier stuff."

"Mm, his voice is too smooth for it," he agreed with a nod. "It would be strange to hear him attempt something heavier."

"It wouldn't sound as good as we do now. We're plenty popular for where we are."

"You are. You're good where you are, it suits you best."

"Exactly. We're the best at what we do."

Jean looked amused at that, nodding slightly. "Of course you are."

He frowned. "Are you trying to say we're not?"

"No, no, I was agreeing with you. That wasn't sarcastic, dear."

He gave Jean a suspicious look, but didn't say anything else.

"I mean it, I was agreeing with you. Promise."

"Alright, alright."

Jean hummed at that, glancing toward the counter to see Adele approaching with their food. "There we are." Adele set their individual plates in front of them, offering wide smiles to each and faltering for a moment by the side of the table before speaking. "I'm... sorry, this is probably rude, but um. I recognized you, you're from the Amis, and uh. I was wondering if I could get an autograph maybe?"

Combeferre looked over at her before slowly nodding his head. He usually didn't give out autographs unless Marius made him, but he didn't want to look bad in front of Jehan. So instead he pulled a pen out of his pocket and grabbed a napkin, signing his name before handing it to the waitress and putting his pen away.

The girl smiled brightly, giving him a thankful nod. "Thank you so much," she said quickly before leaving them to their food. Jean looked amused as she walked away, lifting his coffee to take a long sip from it. "Looks like you have a fan."

"I have a lot of fans." Combeferre responded, "It's fun to see them sometimes, to be honest. It's just nice remembering that people like you."

Jean hummed at that, nodding. "I can imagine so. It's got to make life interesting too."

"Yes, it does. Marius makes us give out autographs at concerts when people approach us because he says its the polite thing to do, or something. For the most part we do it because we like the attention." He laughed.

He chuckled quietly. "Of course. Marius does have a point, it is polite. And also just good for your rep."

"Yeah, yeah. I know it is. When you're in a bad mood or tired, though, it's really hellish."

"Mm, I can only imagine. Dealing with people that much has got to wear on you in time."

"It does. But it's nice when you're in a good mood. Enjolras loves the attention like you wouldn't believe. I mean, I do too, but there's just something different with E."

He nodded slightly at that. "He thrives on it. It makes him a better performer, I'd imagine."

"I dunno. It goes to his head, I think."

Jean snorted. "Of course. I would imagine that much fame would after a while."

Combeferre curled his hand into a fist, looking briefly angry, before just as quickly relaxing. "Enjolras is...strange."

He noticed the brief look of anger, pausing a moment before speaking, softer than before. "I didn't mean anything bad by that, you know. I mean. It's not /bad/ that it goes to his head. It would happen with anyone."

"Oh, I know you didn't. I'm the one that suggested it after all." He turned his head to look out the window.

Chewing his lip for a moment, Jean just nodded slightly, looking down at his plate and falling silent. He felt like he'd said something wrong, for the way that Combeferre had reacted, and wasn't quite sure how to recover from it.

It took Combeferre a moment to realize what sort of situation he had put Jean in. "I'm sorry," he turned back to Jehan, "It was nothing you said. Enjolras just frustrates me."

Glancing back up at him, Jean gave him a soft smile, shaking his head. "It's alright. Would you like to vent about him before you have to deal with him tomorrow...?"

Combeferre seemed to think about this for a moment. "If I told you I loved him, would you think I'm insane?"

That admission caught him off-guard, but he managed not to falter, simply shaking his head. "It's not insane. Not at all insane."

"He's ridiculous. Beautiful, but frustrating. Yet I'm infatuated with him. He just won't give me the light of day."

He nodded slightly at that, shifting to cross one leg over the other and bounce his foot. "Well. You mentioned that he also just doesn't seem to have sex. Perhaps he's asexual and that's where his disinterest comes from? Or maybe he doesn't realize you're interested in him."

"I've told him. He's just not interested. I guess I'm not his type."

"Oh." Jean frowned slightly at that, chewing his lip. "That's... I'm sorry dear. That's a terrible way to be."

"Do you know that feeling? Wanting someone you know you can't have?"

"I do. Pretty well, actually. It's a terrible feeling."

"You're much more pleasant to talk to than Enjolras, or even Courfeyrac."

That drew a small laugh from Jean, and he grinned slightly. "I try," he returned. "You're easy to talk to."

"I don't have many friends, believe it or not."

"Really? I... wouldn't have anticipated that."

"Moving around all the time does that to you I guess."

"Mm, I can see that. Did you move a lot before the band got together?"

"Not really. I just didn't have many close friends."

He nodded at that, humming quietly. "Sometimes that's easier. Having a smaller social circle is less exhausting."

"I was just kind of a nerd as a child, so no one really wanted to be my friend." he admitted.

Jean looked surprised, raising an eyebrow. "Really? That's a little hard to imagine."

"It is now, isn't it?" Combeferre laughed, "It's true though. I was a huge nerd."

"It is. It's definitely surprising, considering your popularity now. You've come a long way," he said with a grin.

"I know I have. My parents are ridiculously proud of me, and they're doctors."

"Mm, doctor parents. They must be busy most of the time if they're both in medicine. Are you an only child?"

"Nope. I have two older siblings and four younger ones."

"Christ. Big family."

"Yeah, big family. Most people say that. But my parents could afford it so."

"I can imagine, both being doctors. I always wondered what having a sibling would be like."

"It's not fun. I don't really talk to any of them anymore besides holidays."

"Never close with any of them?"

"I was probably closest to the one right underneath me in age, but she and I don't talk as often as we used to. I guess we're both busy."

Jean nodded at that, finishing off his plate and lifting his coffee to take a long sip. Setting it back down, he hummed. "I suppose that comes with age too."

"Yeah, I guess so." Combeferre set down his spoon in the empty bowl before taking another sip of his water.

"How was the chili?" he questioned.

"Delicious. You were right."

"I thought so," he said with a soft chuckle. "Would you like dessert, or should you head back home?"

"I don't do dessert. I'm sure it's delicious though."

"Noted for future reference." Glancing up, Jean gestured Adele over, who set their check down on the table and took their plates when she got there. Giving a quick, polite goodbye, she headed back behind the counter again, and Jean looked down at the receipt in silence for a moment before pulling out his wallet.

"You know, I don't mind paying for it. Really." Combeferre said as he reached for his back pocket. "It's not a problem for me."

Jean waved a hand at that, shaking his head. "I've got it. No worries. My treat."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. You can pay next time if we do dinner again."

"Fine, fine." He pulled his hand back and shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"This was really nice." Patting down his pockets, Jean fished out a pen, snagging a napkin and writing a phone number down on it. "Here. This is my personal cell number. Whenever you're free for more work, let me know."

He looked the number over. "Yeah, I'll do just that. I've got another month still."

"Precisely. And I'll have plenty of openings. I can do work outside of shop hours if need be as well."

"Perfect. I'll definitely be calling you. Just don't sell my number." He chuckled with a shake of his head.

Jean laughed at that, shaking his head. "Oh yes, that's completely my intention. To get your number so I can sell it and make all kinds of money off of it."

"I knew it." Ferre snapped his fingers. "Damn."

"You've figured out my secret. However shall I succeed in my plan now?"

"I guess I just can't call you."

"But that would make me a very, very sad little artist."

"Aw. That's so pathetic. I guess I'll call anyway, then."

Jean laughed at that, ducking his head. "You'd better. I'll be expecting it."

"Yeah, yeah. I will. Maybe before we leave, maybe not until we get back."

He nodded then. "Whenever you have the time, like I said. You can text too, I'm quicker to answer those than a phone call."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Nodding, Jean gestured to the door, heading up to the counter and handing the girl there the check and enough money to cover it and a tip before turning back toward Combeferre. "I'll see you sometime in the near future. Good luck with rehearsal tomorrow, dear."

"Thanks. It's going to be a little piece of Hell, I just know it." Combeferre shrugged gently before walking out the door, checking his phone as he walked down the street.

He chuckled at that, walking alongside him until they reached the shop's front door again and patting down his pocket for his keys. "Maybe it won't be so bad. Think positive." Offering a last wave, he unlocked the door to the shop and gave a quick smile before stepping inside and closing the door behind himself.

 


	8. I'd do Anything for a Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Cosette is introduced into the series

Brushing a hand over the top of her head, Cosette ensured that her hair was neatly back in its ponytail, out of the way for the work for the evening. There was a lot to do. The Amis were performing that night - the band should be there any moment - and she had to help get them set up and prepared to perform, assisting their manager and tech crew in whatever way was necessary.

Making her way over to the side door that the equipment should come through, she pushed it open, shifting up on her tip toes to secure the latch at the top corner in anticipation of their arrival.

When the band’s tour bus finally pulled up, Marius was the first one out. He was holding a guitar and a bass as he came up to the door, smiling at Cosette. “Hello. Are you the one they said would help bring in the instruments?”

Cosette gave a smile when Marius walked up, nodding and pushing off of the wall beside the door. “That’s me. Cosette, it’s nice to meet you. Is there anything in particular you want me to grab for you?”

"Marius." He blinked, really getting to take her in now that she had moved closer and he had stopped moving. She was beautiful, and he wasn’t sure how to react to her. "I uh. Marius. My name’s Marius."

He seemed to be blanking out at the moment; it made Cosette laugh quietly, ducking her head to hide the grin on the corners of her lips. “Marius,” she said with a nod. “I’ll remember that.”

"Yeah. Marius." Realizing he was staring, he quickly shook his head. "God. Sorry. I’m uh, fine. I’m fine. You can help me with, uh, these I guess." He held the bass out toward Cosette, knowing Enjolras would get pissed if anyone else touched his guitar.

Laughing at the apology, she shook her head slightly. “It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” Reaching her hand out, she took the bass that was held out to her, glancing back toward the truck. “I assume there’s a drum kit coming in too, or are you using the one the stadium offers?”

"Yeah, Combeferre has to have his own drums. He won’t use someone else’s." Marius shrugged. "They have to be set up a certain way though, or he’ll get pissed. All of these do, actually."

She nodded slightly at that, looking back at him. “If you give me a run through for how he needs the drum kit, I can set that up while you get these two set up. I assume you’ll be tuning them, since you’re bringing them in.”

"Yeah. I am. Unfortunately." Marius sighed, "Alright, well. I guess I can give you exact instructions, but if you mess up it’s my head getting cut off, not yours."

"I won’t mess it up, promise. It’s my job to help with this stuff, remember?" She gave him a quick smile at that before gesturing inside. "We should get these inside. Once you run me through setting up, I’ll get the kit and get that together for you."

"Alright. Thanks." He explained exactly how Combeferre needs his drum kit set up as they walked down the hall, Cosette leading him to the performance hall.

Pushing open the door to the hall, Cosette held up a finger, leaning against the door and shifting up on her tip toes to secure the latch there as well. “I can do that,” she said at last with a nod. “I’m used to finicky musicians, no worries. The tech crew always gets it worst from them, I’ve found, so anything I can do to help, just let me know.” Setting the bass down on a stand as they reached the stage, she gestured to the area. “The stage is yours. I’ll be back in soon.”

"Yeah, alright. Thanks." He wasn’t too fond of immediately being assumed the "tech crew", but he was also used to it. He knew that he was pretty much the only manager that actually took care of the instruments for his band, but Enjolras was very adamant about not having to hire techies. With a sigh, Marius placed both instruments and began to tune one of them.

Cosette was quick to work; she brought the drum kit’s pieces in within three trips, setting about getting it into the proper placement and sitting behind it to make sure it was properly distanced to the best of what she could manage. There was an opening band as well as this one, she knew, and they would be using the studio’s kit, which she would have to set up farther forward so that this one was relatively out of view and easy to grab between them finishing and the Amis starting. There was another techie coming with the opener to assist with that, though.

Looking over at Marius when she’d finished, about forty-five minutes from beginning, she got to her feet, heading over to him slowly. “The kit’s all set,” she said, giving him a smile.

"Thanks." Marius said, looking up, "I appreciate it. It’s nice having help." He stood up and brushed off his pants. "I guess I should get going. I have more paperwork to do, and I have to get the band ready. They’re probably all screwing off somewhere already."

"Paperwork…?" Cosette questioned, looking momentarily confused. Generally speaking, tech crew didn’t do paperwork, especially not right before a show. And he was getting the band ready as well, something usually set for the manager to take care of. "I… are you not tech crew then?"

"No. No I’m not." He flashed her a gentle smile. "I’m their manager, actually."

That made her pause briefly before looking immediately apologetic. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I thought you were tech. I… wow, that was rude, I didn’t mean to assume, I’m so sorry. Ah. Is there anything else I can help you with, anything at all?”

"It’s alright. I know most managers don’t do these things for their band. Our arrangement is just kind of…strange, I suppose." He shrugged slightly. "I can’t think of anything, unless you want to find my band for me." Marius laughed before adding, "But thank you for the help. I appreciate it."

Cosette gave a small laugh at that, nodding slightly. “Of course. It’s my job. Ah, if you’re sure. If you need anything else, just. Let me know. I’ll be mostly free, aside from helping the opening band set up. Sound check should be in about an hour.”

"Thank you. Just make sure the opening band is alright. My band has been giving them shit lately, so anything to ease their pains would be great. I think they actually have their own techies though. I’m sure we’ll be meeting again later, but for now I need to go find my band. Thanks again for the help." Marius smiled at her before heading back out the door in which he had come in.

Cosette watched Marius go in silence, smiling slightly and letting out a quiet sigh before shaking herself out of the momentary daydream and getting back to work. The opening band arrived only a short while after Marius disappeared, with their own techie to assist in setting up and the performers themselves tuning, and so she had little to do until sound check.

Tapping the microphone at the front of the stage, she spoke a quick, “Test, test,” giving the man at the soundboard a nod. Moving around the drum set for Harlequin, she tapped the second microphone before speaking again, looking toward the doors to see the bands entering, The Amis from the break area and Harlequin from the back exit. She moved off of the stage quickly then, leaning against a table backstage to listen in and see if she was needed at all as Harlequin took their places to warm up.

Marius was almost immediately by Cosette’s side when they entered the room. He found he hadn’t been able to get his mind off of her for the last few hours while he prepared for the show, and it was rather embarrassing for him.

"Hey," he greeted her upon finding her toward the back, figuring he would leave everything up to Musichetta at the moment, "I told you I’d be back."

Looking up at the sound of Marius’s voice, Cosette gave him a shy smile, shifting over to offer him a spot beside her against the table. “So you did, and so you are,” she said with a nod, glancing toward the stage again. “Do you have much to do from here on out for the evening? Aside from any tech things that need to be done during sound check, I mean.”

"Oh, I’m sure my band will find something for me to do. They always do." Marius laughed, "I really wish we had our own techie, but hey, I guess at least I’m getting paid."

Cosette nodded at that, humming quietly. “That is a bonus, I suppose. They wouldn’t consider hiring a tech, would they?”

"I don’t think so. I’d really have to sell it to them." Marius sighed. He looked up when there was a tap on his shoulder, and Combeferre was at his side. "I can’t find my drumsticks."

"Again?"

"Yeah."

"Combeferre, this is the second time today."

"Sorry, not sorry."

Marius sighed and pulled an extra set of drumsticks out of his messenger bag, handing them over to the drummer and watching him walk off.

Cosette had to bite her lip to smother a laugh when Combeferre walked off, ducking her head and trying to keep the laugh out of her voice. “I take it he loses his drumsticks a lot, then?”

"All the time. He’ll probably lose that pair by the time he plays tonight."

"Christ. How does he go through that many drumsticks?" Shaking her head, she glanced toward the stage again before pushing off of the table. "Come with me. This’ll be more helpful for you than most people, it would seem."

Curious, Marius stood and followed after her. “Where are we going?”

At the question, Cosette shot him a quick grin over her shoulder. “It’s an adventure,” she teased, opening a door toward the back of the wing they were in. A narrow set of stairs led up to another door, which she led him up to before opening it up and stepping inside. “In here, there’s a bunch of spare accessories.” Gesturing to various shelves, she listed off the different materials there. “Guitar strings, bass strings, acoustic strings, extra amplifier chords, bass pedals, drumsticks, drum heads, guitar straps… Anything you could possibly need, it’s all in here.”

Marius blinked and stared around the room. “Oh, wow. Thank you. We have extras of pretty much everything in the tour bus, but I appreciate this. It will be faster when he loses his drumsticks two more times, so I won’t have to go back out into the van to get them.” Marius smiled at her gently.

Cosette huffed out a soft laugh at that, nodding and turning back toward him. “The room is small; it used to be a quick change room when this was a theatre. But I figured this would make things easier for you. This way if anything else happens to go wrong, everything is fully stocked up here for you.” The space was tight; with both of them in the room, they were fairly close together. “If you need a runner, I can take care of that too. During shows, if it’s a particularly loud one, I’ll come sit up here sometimes rather than staying downstairs. You can still hear everything up here, but it’s more muffled.”

Marius nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate it. We should be okay though. We always are, somehow.”

"Anything to make it easier." Giving him a soft smile, Cosette glanced toward the door as the sound of Harlequin’s warm-up filtered up into the room before focusing back on him.

"I bet my band members have wandered off already. Sometimes I can get them to sit through their opening’s play through, but I have a hard time. Especially with our lead."

"I’ve heard rumors that they’re… difficult," she admitted, shaking her head slightly. "I take it they don’t like the opening band much?"

"Enjolras hates them. The other two seem okay with them though, so that’s something."

"Why does he dislike them so much? I mean… They sound pretty good, I think. Heavier than the Amis, a little stranger, but for their style, they’re decent."

"He hates everyone that isn’t him, to be honest." Marius shrugged, "He’s a brat, as everyone says."

Cosette snorted at that, shaking her head. “Encouraging. At least he’s putting up with them. And you said the others seem okay with them. So it could be worse?”

”It could be. Everything could always be worse. I think that’s the only thing that keeps me in this job.”

"Such encouraging thoughts. Does it at least pay well?"

"It pays alright for a single guy that doesn’t have to worry about anyone but himself, at least."

Cosette raised an eyebrow at that, grinning slightly. “Single guy, hmm? Part of me finds it hard to believe a man as handsome as you are is single.”

Marius just stared at her, mouth slightly agape and a blush spreading across his cheeks. “I…uh…”

She had flustered him again; it made her smirk, huffing out a quiet laugh and ducking her head. “That was… really forward of me, I apologize.”

"No, no, it’s okay. I didn’t…I mean…It’s fine, really. I’m fine. Everything is fine."

Looking up at him, Cosette grinned, lifting a hand to brush her fingertips over his cheek. “You’re blushing. It’s cute.”

He gulped nervously and gave her a small smile. “I don’t think it’s cute, but okay.”

"I think it’s cute. Most people I meet don’t fluster that easily." Brushing her thumb over his cheekbone, she dropped her hand after a moment, slipping it into her pocket. "We… should probably get back down there. Find your band and all."

Marius didn’t want to leave, but he knew it was probably for the best. “Yeah, maybe we should. They probably need something by now.” He didn’t move though.

Cosette didn’t want to go either. She was enjoying this, his company. Giving him a soft smile, she nudged his ankle with her own. “The show is in an hour or so. Once the show has started, we can come back up here if you’d like.”

"I…have to be there. As their manager." He let out a soft sigh.

"After the show, then." That had come quicker following his statement than she had meant it to, sounding a little more desperate than she realized, and Cosette paused a moment before speaking again, ducking her head. "There’s a diner, about two blocks out from here. If… If you’re interested, we could grab something to eat after the show."

"I would love to." He knew he had to clean up after the show, but he might be able to convince the opening band’s techie to clean up for them too. He was tired, and he needed this break.

He had accepted. That drew a bright smile to Cosette’s face, and she bit the inside of her lip lightly to smother it, giving a nod. “I look forward to it.” Glancing toward the door as the music died away again, she let out a sigh, pushing off of the shelf she’d leaned against. “I believe your band is up, dear. They’ll be looking for you, I’m sure.”

"Combeferre probably lost his sticks again." He sighed and headed out the door, carefully walking around Cosette.

And he was right. Immediately upon entering the room again, Combeferre was at his side, complaining that his sticks had gone missing again. With a sigh, Marius pulled his last pair out of his bag and pushed him in the direction of the stage.

Cosette followed behind Marius down to the stage, biting her lip to smother a laugh when Combeferre came over immediately complaining. Waiting only long enough for the drummer to be out of earshot, she started laughing quietly, covering her mouth with one hand to muffle it. “You gave him a pair not twenty minutes ago, how did he lose them already?”

"I don’t know. He just sets them down and doesn’t look for them. I’ll find both of the pairs he lost before the show tonight, don’t worry."

She shook her head at that, crossing her arms over her stomach with a wide grin. “You have your work cut out for you with this band, it seems. How you do it is beyond me.”

"I don’t know how I do it either, to be honest. I’ve been close to quitting a few times. They need me though; they’d be lost without me."

"It definitely seems that way. You must have a saint’s patience to put up with them." Looking toward the stage as the band started up, she hummed quietly. "They sound great, though."

"Yeah, they do, don’t they? That would be why they’re one of the most famous bands out there."

"Mm, it would appear so. I’ve heard their stuff on the radio sometimes during work or the drive home, but I haven’t actively listened to much, to be honest. It’s impressive."

"They’re different. It’s a good different."

"A very good different. They’re more fun than a lot of the more popular bands right now."

"And they’re all really pretty, especially Enjolras. So it goes well for them."

Cosette laughed softly at that, nodding. “Though I wouldn’t describe the drummer as pretty, not quite. He’s more rugged than the other two.”

"That’s true. Combeferre isn’t really pretty, but that’s why he’s the drummer. He’s in the back so no one can really see him anyway. Of course, don’t tell him I said that. He’d freak."

"I take it he’s self-conscious about that?" she mused, looking out toward him with a hum. "I mean, he’s handsome. A rugged handsome, it’s a good type of handsome. His physique screams "I could fuck you against a wall or I could throw you across the room depending on my mood". It’s not unattractive."

Marius just stared at her for that comment. “I think you put more thought into this than I do. Then again, I am a guy, so.”

Cosette snorted at that, ducking her head. “It doesn’t require that much thought, really. It’s just the first impression you get from seeing him. Like Enjolras, from Enjolras you get the impression that he’s more likely to want to do your nails than to want to do you. And Courfeyrac strikes you as the kind of person who’ll leave you a shaking puddle of pleasure by the time he’s done, but he’ll be gone by morning and in someone else’s bed.”

Marius just stared at her blankly for a moment. “I don’t even know what to make of that. I can’t. I don’t….want to think about any of them that way, if I can help it.”

Laughing quietly at the blank stare, she nodded, rocking back on her heels. “Reasonable, given you work with them.”

"I guess so. It’s just not really a thing I think about, unless I’m drunk." He admitted.

"Unless you’re drunk." A teasing grin came to her face for a moment before the band fell quiet between songs and she glanced out at the stage, frowning slightly after a moment. "Your bassist’s cord is fraying at the end near the amp. When they’re done this song, you should switch it out. Hang on." Moving quickly, she darted back to the side room, returning a minute later with a cord in hand and holding it out to him.

"Thank you." He took the cord, "You’re better at this than I am. You should be our techie, not me."

Cosette laughed at that, ducking her head. “I’ve just learned to look for certain things is all. His lowest string was buzzy during the last song, which meant either his frets are too high or something was off with the cord. Nothing that impressive.” She shrugged a shoulder, leaning against the wall beside him. “If they were willing to hire a techie, I’d totally be willing to come on board, though. It’d be better than working here.”

"I’ll talk to them and see what they’ll do. We could use you. I can’t handle all of this anymore."

She nodded slightly, humming. “It’s a lot for a manager to be doing managerial work and tech at the same time. Even if it doesn’t pay much, I’d be willing. You seem pretty stressed out, and that’ll give your pretty face early wrinkles.”

He blushed again at this and shook his head slightly. “Thanks, I guess.”

She’d made him blush again; it made Cosette laugh softly, shaking her head. “You’re too easy,” she teased gently. “Just a little bit of complimenting and you’re blushing again. It’s cute.”

He groaned, “I can’t help it. Damn it.”

Giggling quietly, she reached a hand out, brushing her fingertips against the back of one of his hands. “It’s alright, it’s cute. I like it.”

He knew he was still blushing, and he awkwardly turned his head away when she touched him.

Shaking her head slightly, Cosette paused a moment, noting that he didn’t pull away though he had turned his face. So she let her hand linger, resting against his lightly, though she switched topics. “How long is your tour running this time around?” she questioned.

He turned back to her. “About half a year, with a few small breaks. We come back to Paris a lot too.”

"Hm. That’s not too bad. The visits back home must be nice after traveling so long, though. I’d imagine it gets tiring, being away."

"I suppose. I don’t have much here, so it doesn’t really matter to me I guess. It’s nice being in a place where everyone speaks French though."

She laughed softly at that, nodding. “I’d imagine. What’s the farthest you’re traveling this time?”

"We’re going to North America for a bit, but not for long. Maybe a month. Enjolras had to learn some of the songs in English for this, so he’d be disappointed if we didn’t go."

"North America. I’ve never even been outside of France," she admitted. "I’ve lived here in Paris my whole life. To travel that far… It sounds like fun. Fantastic fun."

"I’ve never been out of Europe honestly, though I do speak English. It will be interesting."

I can speak some English. Broken, but some at least. My father taught me when I was young.” She gave him a smile. “It sounds like it’s bound to be fun. New locations are great to explore, I’d imagine.”

"I speak English and German fluently on top of French." He shared.

She looked impressed at that. “I never learned another language fluently. Just broken bits of other languages. German, Italian, Spanish, English.”

"I did at school. It would get me a better job."

Cosette hummed, nodding. “Sensible. I’ve only just finished high school myself last year. I was planning on going to university right away, but… Funds were short, so I opted to work instead. You don’t make much without a degree, but it pays enough to suffice.”

"Oh wow. You’re a lot younger than I thought you were."

"Nineteen," she said with a nod. "Do I seem that much older?"

"I thought so, at least. I’m 23. Just out of uni."

"Ah, you’re not that much older than me at all," she said with a smile. "I’d thought you were about that old. Young, but not high school young."

"Uh, thanks?" He rubbed the back of his head with his hand, not really sure what else to say. At that moment, though, he was saved by the song ending. He went up to fix the cord as Cosette had told him to do.

Glancing over as he switched the cord out, Cosette moved to sit on the table she’d leaned against earlier, dragging her phone out to check her messages quickly before sliding it away again. Musichetta came up as she was doing so, leaning against the wall to talk to her quickly. When Marius returned, he caught the tail end of the conversation, Musichetta’s voice low and quick. “If you’ve got strings we can grab after the show, I’ll pay you for the replacements and all. There’s just not time to get out to a store tonight and Grantaire’s worried about breaking a string because one of his higher ones is weak right now.”

Cosette nodded at that, tapping out a memo in her phone quickly. “So two sets of guitar strings, one for bass, and a set of nylon strings then? Don’t worry about paying, we have plenty stocked up. No worries, I can take care of that.”

Musichetta looked over at Marius as he walked up, giving him a quick smile before dragging her phone out when it started buzzing and heading off of the stage.

"We’re about done here," Marius said as Musichetta walked away, "Enjolras was complaining. And Combeferre is about to break his sticks, I need to go find his heavy duty ones that he lost earlier."

Cosette huffed out a soft laugh at that. “If you can’t find those, I can dig through our stock and see what I have that’s heavy duty. There’s probably something up there. D’you need help with anything else before the show?”

"No, I think I’m good. This is all usual stuff. Enjolras will complain that he doesn’t want to do the show up until I actually get him on stage, where his ego will make him go through with it. Courfeyrac will disappear to go flirt with God knows how many girls until show time, and Combeferre will lose his sticks at least five more times."

Snorting softly, she shook her head. “They’re certainly an interesting group. Alright, if you need anything, here.” Patting down her pockets, she pulled out a card with her name and a phone number on it, holding it out to him. “I’ll be close by, just shoot me a message and I’ll head back over here. In the mean time, I’m gonna get a couple things set up for Harlequin and help out in the lobby. I’ll see you at show time then.”

"Alright. Sounds good. Thanks." He glanced at the card before placing it in his pocket.

Giving a last smile, she slid off of the table, heading up to the back room to dig out the strings for the opening band.

Nearly an hour later, when the bands were meant to be gathering up backstage for the show to begin, Courfeyrac was out in the lobby, leaning against a wall with a casual, flirty smile on his face as he spoke to Cosette. Cosette had her arms crossed over her stomach and a set of drumsticks in her hand, a grin on her face, and she had lost track of time.

Marius had managed to coerce the lead singer and drummer backstage, but he was still missing one. It took him a bit to find him in the lobby, and he was immediately put off when he saw Courfeyrac was talking with Cosette. He couldn’t really explain it, just something inside of him broke upon seeing that. He felt like he lost any chance he had with her because Courfeyrac was now interested, and Marius knew that Courfeyrac was the better looking one.

He came up to them and tapped Courfeyrac on the shoulder. “Time to go.”

Cosette’s eyes locked on Marius when he came over, her smile brightening at the sight of him as she pushed off of the wall. As she unfolded her arms, Courfeyrac took her empty hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and giving a wink before heading backstage.

Cosette just rolled her eyes at the kiss, shaking her head and slipping her hand into her pocket. “Here, I believe these are your drummer’s,” she said, holding the drumsticks out to Marius. “I found them while I was cleaning up the lobby.”

Marius took the drumsticks and shook his head. “Thank you. And I’m sorry about Courfeyrac. He’s a bit of a flirt.” He paused, “And you were right about him, you know. Your insight on him earlier.”

Cosette quirked an eyebrow at his statement about Courfeyrac, thinking back to what she’d said earlier before flushing lightly and giving a quiet, “Oh.” She cleared her throat then, shaking her head slightly. “He’s not quite my type, though.”

Marius laughed at her reaction, proud of himself for finally catching her off guard rather than the other way around. “I need to go. I’ve got to make sure Courfeyrac actually went backstage.”

His laugh drew a small grin to her face, and she gave him a quick nod. “Go on then. I’ll see you backstage in a little bit.” Stepping forward, she glanced over her shoulder at him with a wider grin before ducking into the stadium and heading up to the stage to finish setting up for the show.

Marius watched her go before shaking his head and heading backstage, returning the drumsticks to Combeferre, scolding him slightly for losing them again.

Courfeyrac was indeed backstage when Marius got there, leaning back against the wall with his head tipped back and flipping a pick between his fingers. “The blonde girl you were talking to is cute,” he toned, grinning over at him.

Marius narrowed his eyes at Courfeyrac. Combeferre looked up from his sticks before saying, “What blond girl? Are you teasing Enjolras again?”

"Hey!" Enjolras looked up, his lips pursed, seemingly ready to fight anyone who was going to make another comment.

Courfeyrac snorted, shaking his head. “No, no, I wasn’t talking about E this time, chill. Marius has himself a little friend. Cute blonde girl, she works here.” He smirked a little wider, glancing over to the other side of backstage, where Cosette was handing off strings to Musichetta with a smile on her face. “That one.”

Combeferre and Enjolras both looked over, though Enjolras turned away in disinterest almost immediately after.

"She’s pretty." Combeferre commented, "I like her."

Marius just frowned at them.

"Right? And she’s flirty. Talking to her was fun." Courfeyrac noted the frown on Marius’s face, smirking a little wider. "Should we make a bet this time, see who she’s more responsive to? Or should we let Marius have this one? He seems to like her."

"Oh I don’t know. I do enjoy watching Marius struggle." Combeferre responded.

Marius narrowed his eyes at Courfeyrac. “We’re going out tonight, just so you know. Go ahead and ask her out tonight, see if she cancels her plans with me.” He was actually kind of scared that she would cancel her plans with him to go out with Courfeyrac, but he tried not to look nervous.

Courfeyrac chuckled quietly at that, looking impressed. “You got yourself a date already? Impressive, very impressive. I do wonder what she’d say though… Let’s test the theory.” Clasping Marius’s shoulder with a playful grin, he pulled away, making his way over to Cosette as Musichetta walked away and talking in a hushed voice.

Cosette’s expression stayed neutral as they spoke, and she crossed her arms over her stomach, finally giving him an apologetic smile and gesturing to Marius, evidently telling him she had plans that night already. They continued to speak for a couple more minutes, and at last Courfeyrac’s expression twisted into something almost insulted before Cosette patted him on the shoulder and walked away, pulling the hair tie out of her hair and letting it fall loose over her shoulders as she got to Marius’s side. “Anything I can do for you?”

Courfeyrac returned to Combeferre’s side as she spoke, mumbling under his breath, “Not her type. I’m everyone’s type, what the hell.”

Combeferre burst into laughter at this. “Aw, did you get shot down? It’ll be good for you. You need the blow to that damn ego of yours. Let Marius have something for once, yeah?”

Marius shook his head. “No, I think we’re good. I’m sorry Courfeyrac bothered you though. He’s trying to get to me.”

Courfeyrac let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not her type. That’s /weird/. I’m /everyone’s/ type.”

Cosette huffed out a laugh at that, shaking her head. “No worries, it didn’t bug me. He seems a little put out, though. Ego bruising.”

"Courfeyrac you’re fine. Not everyone in the world is going to be attracted to you."

Marius laughed at this. “Yeah, he’s like that. It’s for the best though. He needs it sometimes.”

"But she’s /pretty/," he whined, pouting. "It’s just unfair for someone that pretty to not be interested."

Cosette giggled softly in response, shaking her head. “Of course. He’ll survive. It’s only minor ego bruising, no big deal.” Glancing back at Courfeyrac, she gave him a grin before focusing back on Marius again. “The show should be starting in about five minutes, Harlequin is already all set to go.”

"Why can’t someone be interested in Marius for a change? Wow, calm down pretty boy." Combeferre laughed.

"Good. My band is ready for the most part, it looks like. Maybe tonight won’t go terribly after all."

Courfeyrac just huffed out a sigh at that. “Well of course they can be interested in Marius, but usually they’re more interested in me. It’s /weird/.”

"Hopefully not. You’re bound to be happier going out after the show if the show goes well," she said, grinning and bumping his side lightly.

"So you’re going to be pissy because she’s more interested in Marius for a change?" Combeferre asked.

"That’s true. It would be even better if someone was able to clean this mess up for me after the show."

"I am not pissy, I’m just saying. It’s weird." Courfeyrac shrugged.

Cosette hummed quietly. “Actually. That’s taken care of. Musichetta said that her tech would help with it, and I talked one of the techs who works here into helping with it as well. So you shouldn’t need to clean anything up.”

"Yeah, weird alright." Combeferre laughed, obviously not thinking it weird at all.

Marius blinked. “Really? Oh man, you’re the best.”

Courfeyrac gave him a look, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t understand, man. You don’t understand at all.”

"It’s part of my job," she said with a grin. "I’m meant to make things easier for you, and thus, I found ways."

"I don’t understand, and that’s what makes it so fucking funny. So you going to try to take her from him or?"

"You’re the best. That already makes my night so much better."

Averting his gaze back to the two of them, Courfeyrac noted the smile on Marius’s face, the almost shy way that Cosette had settled beside him, before shrugging a shoulder. “No, I don’t think I’ll try to take her from him. Might try the other way around though. Depends how serious it seems.”

Cosette beamed. “I try. Anything to ease things for you.”

"Oh, so if it seems serious you’re not going to break them up? Or am I reading your intentions wrong?" Combeferre looked over to watch Marius and Cosette.

Marius couldn’t help but smile back. He was already infatuated with Cosette, and he knew it.

Courfeyrac crossed his arms over his chest, starting to flip his pick between his fingers again. “We’ll see. I’m still undecided. I like having him in my bed when I want him there.” Perhaps there were feelings there, a hint of jealousy, but he wasn’t going to admit to that. Not now, not when he spent so much time trying to seem aloof. “Maybe I’ll let things be.”

Leaning against Marius’s side lightly, an instinctive motion, she dragged her phone out of her pocket, looking down at the message that had just come before letting out a sigh. “I’ve got to run and fetch something for the lobby. It’s my last task for the evening before my shift’s up, though. I’ll be back in ten minutes, tops.”

"I can imagine you do, but are you really going to break up his relationship for that?" Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him.

"Take your time. I’ve got to work for the band anyway, so it’s fine. Just come find me when you’re done."

Courfeyrac pursed his lips, glancing back at Combeferre before shrugging. “We’ll see.”

Cosette shot him a quick smile and a nod. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised before darting off to take care of the last of what needed to be done before the show.

Marius came back over to his band when Cosette left. “Does anyone need anything? Combeferre, do you still have your sticks?”

Combeferre held up his drumsticks and beat them together to make a noise.

"Perfect."

Looking up at Marius when he walked over, Courfeyrac gave him a grin. “Think we’re set to go.”

There was a moment’s pause as the crowd erupted in cheers and Harlequin began to play, only a momentary quiver sounding in Grantaire’s voice before he steadied out.

"Sounds like a good crowd tonight too."

“Sold out.” Marius said proudly, “You guys are huge. Almost all of your shows are sold out already.”

"Look at us go. We’ve got a good run coming. This’ll be a good tour, I’m excited," Courfeyrac admitted, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"You should be. It should be a good tour." He looked over when Enjolras approached them. "You know. I think we should hire a techie. Specifically the one I’ve been talking to tonight. It would make my life a lot easier."

He raised an eyebrow at that, looking over at Enjolras to gauge his response. “She did notice that the cord was fucked up earlier. I didn’t even notice that.”

"I didn’t either." Marius admitted, "So I think she should come along with us."

Enjolras looked pissed though. “I don’t want to have to pay her too. Why can’t you just do your job for once?”

Marius looked immediately offended. “I am doing my job. I’m doing more than my job, actually. I shouldn’t do techie work in the first place. And if you don’t hire her – or someone – I’m going to quit.”

Enjolras frowned at this. “I don’t believe you.”

"I’ll do it. I’ll quit right now."

"Liar." Enjolras hissed.

Combeferre just laughed at this, also positive Marius wasn’t going to quit.

Courfeyrac sighed quietly. “Enjolras, he’s telling the truth. Managers don’t do tech shit most of the time and she noticed something no one else noticed earlier. And it’s not like we can’t afford it.”

"I think Courfeyrac is right for once." Combeferre commented. "And that’s two to one."

Enjolras growled, his fists clenched at his side, before just turning and walking away.

Marius sighed at this, but gave the other two a small smile. “Thank you.”

Courfeyrac watched Enjolras go before looking back at Marius and giving a nod. “You’re welcome. You should probably go fetch him, it’s almost time for us to go up.”

Marius sighed and followed after Enjolras, disappearing out of the backstage area.

Marius had only been gone for a few minutes when Cosette returned to the backstage area, glancing around and noting Combeferre and Courfeyrac before moving to sit on the table she’d sat on earlier to await his return.

Marius came back about ten minutes later, dragging Enjolras with him and placing him down next to Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “Please, be good. Can I tell her that she’s hired, then?”

Enjolras frowned but gave his head a slight incline.

"Good." He looked around before walking over to Cosette. "Hey."

Cosette was tapping her foot along to the last song of the opening band when Marius returned, his approach drawing a smile to his face. “Hey,” she returned. “I am officially off for the night at last. Band issues?” she questioned, nodding toward Enjolras.

"Yeah, always band issues. Enjolras gets pissed and walks away a lot." He sighed.

Cosette just shook her head at that, looking toward the stage as the last song finished and the crowd started cheering louder again. Holding up a finger, she got to her feet, giving him a quick grin. I’m gonna help move the stadium drum kit, just a moment.” Hopping off of the table, she moved quickly, grabbing the pieces that Feuilly didn’t get on his first trip and nodding the Amis toward the stage as she set the pieces down carefully.

Returning to the table, she moved back onto it, settling cross-legged and resting her elbows on her knees.

"That reminds me," Marius said as he watched his band move around to get ready to go on stage, "They said that they’d hire you so I didn’t have to do as much work."

For a minute, Cosette just stared at him in silence, positive she hadn’t heard him properly. She could have sworn he’d just told her he’d gotten her a job. After knowing her for less than a night. Shaken from distraction by the band starting to play, she shook her head, clearing her throat. “You… You really got me a job? Seriously?”

"Yeah, I said I would, didn’t I?" Marius was smirking, "They like you, you work hard. So they said they’d take you on. You don’t mind going on tour with us?"

Cosette’s expression had to have been one of utter shock. She hadn’t expected him to actually get her a job, not at all. Slowly, a bright smile broke out across her face, obviously excited, and she nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Definitely. I’d definitely be up for that. Oh my god. You really got me a job.”

"I did. Now you just have to get yourself a passport. Can you do that?"

"I… Yeah, I got mine when I turned eighteen. I just have to give the stadium my two weeks. Wow."

"Well we’re moving on tour sooner than that." Marius said with a small smile.

Cosette nodded quickly. “If I tell them why I’m resigning, they’ll understand. I can be set to go whenever we leave, no worries.” She gave him a smile back, brushing a hand through her hair and letting it linger at the back of her neck. “Thank you, thank you so much. Wow.”

"Yeah, no problem. We could use the help, it will save me a lot of effort, so. You’re welcome to help out."

Cosette nodded quickly at that. “Of course, of course. Anything you need help with. Anything at all.”

He smiled at her enthusiasm. “Perfect. I think everything will work out then.”

"God, thank you. Thank you so much. This is gonna be fantastic."

"No problem. We’ll work out the details later, yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely. I’ll talk to the stadium tomorrow and all." Leaning back against the wall behind the table, Cosette tilted her head back against it, taking a deep breath.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I’m… really good. Wow. I just… didn’t expect you to actually get me the job." Cosette looked over at Marius, giving him a shy smile and shifting over to offer up a seat beside her on the table.

He sat down next to her. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

She turned her head to look at him, giving him a shy smile. “You did. It just… surprised me. I’m… I’m really glad you kept your word on that. And that your band went with it.”

"Enjolras wasn’t happy, but the other two outvoted him. They felt like I deserved a break."

Cosette laughed at that, nodding. “Of course Enjolras wasn’t happy. Is he ever happy about anything?”

"I honestly don’t think he ever is happy," Marius admitted with a sigh.

She just shook her head slightly, shifting to rest her head against Marius’s shoulder and pulling her knees up to settle more comfortably. “One day maybe he will be,” she said with a shrug. “One day. Someone’ll figure out how to make him be happy somehow.”

"I really doubt that." Marius shook his head. "But if they did, I’d definitely owe them. He’d be much easier to deal with."

"Someday. No one can be that unhappy forever, it’s impossible."

"You obviously have never actually sat around and tried to have a conversation with Enjolras, then."

Cosette laughed at that, shaking her head. “Nope, can’t say I’ve done that. Aside from briefly seeing him, he and I haven’t even spoken. The only one in your band I’ve talked to is Courfeyrac.”

"And I’m terribly sorry about that."

She laughed again, shrugging. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not as though he’s the most forward man I’ve ever met. It’s kind of flattering, really.”

"Courfeyrac is sadly the best of them. Combeferre isn’t far behind, but sometimes he’s hard to talk to. Enjolras is…terrible."

She hummed quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind. Enjolras seems pretty difficult. Talented, yes, but… bitchy, for lack of a better word. Terribly, terribly bitchy.”

"That’s Enjolras. He’s not pleasant to talk to, but he has a pretty voice."

"I should avoid talking to him if possible then?"

"Probably. He hates people he thinks are prettier than him, so he won’t want anything to do with you."

She snorted at that, looking up at Marius with a raised eyebrow. “He’ll think I’m prettier than him?”

"I’m sure he does. He gets offended by blondes."

"Wow. He’s offended by a lot, isn’t he?"

"He is. I shouldn’t just be sitting here telling you all of this though. But now you get where I’m coming from, yeah? I have to deal with this every day."

She nodded at that, looking up at him with a small smile. “I can understand. It gets exhausting and sometimes you need to just vent about it.”

"Yeah, exactly. The other two aren’t much better, but I’d rather deal with them than deal with Enjolras."

"They’re all bratty, huh?"

"Yes. I wish I could just quit sometimes, but I need this job."

She nodded slightly, lifting her head to meet his eye again. “Well. Maybe with me there to help get things done, it won’t be quite so bad. Hopefully.”

"Hopefully. You’ll have to learn to deal with them too though."

Cosette just gave a grin. “I’m used to dealing with strong personalities, I can deal with it.”

"Hey, I’m sure you can."

[“It’s worth it. I get to travel. And do work I actually like instead of just. Being stuck at the stadium six days a week.”

"Exactly. I’m sure you’ll do fine." He gave her a wink and a nudge with his elbow.

The wink made her blush, and she ducked her head with a soft laugh. “You’ve got a lot of faith in me already, you know,” she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I think you deserve it."

"You’re sweet. Hopefully I live up to that impression."

"You will, I’m sure. Courfeyrac appreciated that you caught the wire today, so you’ve already impressed him. You should talk to the others soon, and at least introduce yourself."

Cosette nodded at that. “I will. I can introduce myself before we head out for dinner at the end of the show.”

"Perfect. Don’t take any of their reactions to heart, though, especially Enjolras. They’re tired after shows."

She huffed out a small laugh at that, giving another nod. “Noted. I figured that would be the case. No big deal.”

"Hopefully they’ll be nice enough."

"No worries. We’ll see how they are when I talk to them, no big deal."

“I’m just trying to prepare you for what is to come.”

"If they’re really terrible, you can make it up to me when we head out for dinner, that’s all."

"Of course, of course." Marius rolled his eyes gently.

Cosette just shot him a grin, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder again. “It’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

"Yeah, hopefully." He glanced out at the stage. "Hopefully they’ll just let me go tonight without a fuss."

"What are the odds of that happening?" she questioned.

"I’m not sure. I’m really not."

Humming quietly, she nodded. “We’ll see what happens.”

"I intend on going whether they want me to or not."

That drew a smile to her face, and she turned her head slightly to hide it against his shoulder. “Good to know. I look forward to it.”

"I do too." After a moment of hesitation, he awkwardly slid a hand around her shoulders, hoping that wasn’t going too far.

Cosette’s eyes flicked over to where his hand settled, a blush dusting her cheeks, before she shifted a bit closer, settling more comfortably under his arm. “You deserve a break.”

"I do. This job is too much. I’m tired of doing everything for those three." He looked over onto the stage again.

"Reasonably tired." She glanced toward the stage as well, humming along with a couple of lines before speaking again. "With me on board, things should get a little easier at least. And maybe you’ll find another band to work with in time. A group that’d treat you better."

"Maybe. I’d kind of feel bad leaving them though. They’re like my children."

She laughed softly at that. “Well. At least things’ll be a little easier now that you won’t be doing all the tech work too.”

"Much easier. I’m afraid you’re going to have Enjolras yelling at you quite a bit though."

She shrugged. “I spend about 80% of my time at the stadium being yelled at, so it won’t be too much different. It just gives me the added bonus of travel. No big deal.”

"Enjolras is pretty terrible though."

"Mm, it’s alright. I’ll deal with it. It’s worth it."

He let the conversation drop, just listening to the music he had heard so many times before.

Cosette stayed quiet, resting against Marius’s side with closed eyes and listening to the band play for the rest of the show, finally forcing her eyes back open when the sound of the crowd erupting at the end of the show sounded, followed soon after by the sound of the band coming toward them. Reluctantly, she straightened up, shifting forward on the table with a small smile on her face.

Marius let go of her and stood when the band approached them. Immediately Enjolras’s guitar was thrust into Marius’s hands and the blond walked away to get a drink.

Cosette watched him go, taking a deep breath and looking toward the others as they walked up.

Courfeyrac, at least, had a wide smile on his face, and he walked up to her casually with his bass in hand, draping an arm over her shoulders casually. “There’s my new favorite techie. Cosette, right?”

She nodded slightly, holding a hand out toward his bass and offering a smile when he handed it over to her.

Combeferre walked up to Cosette and prodded her with one of his drumsticks. “I need my set put away tonight, not tomorrow. I don’t like it sitting out overnight even though some places let us.”

She nodded quickly at that. “I’ll get it put away, I have things set up already to make sure everything will get done.”

"Good." Combeferre walked away, following Enjolras.

Marius looked over at Courfeyrac. “I’m going out tonight after I put away your bass and E’s guitar. I’ll be back late, but probably before any of you. I know you all too well.”

Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes at that, glancing over at Cosette for a moment before looking back at Marius again. “Enjolras’ll be pissy about you going without telling him,” he pointed out.

Marius let out a sigh. He knew it was true. “I’ll go tell him before I leave. He’ll show up again to make sure his guitar is safe anyway.”

"Yeah he will. Good luck dealing with him, dear, he’s already pissy tonight." He patted Marius on the shoulder before taking off after the other two.

Cosette just watched him go before letting out a quiet breath. “Here, you take this. I’ll start grabbing the kit.”

Marius took the bass and headed toward the bus, through the back exit he had remembered from earlier. He didn’t want to talk to Enjolras, but he knew he would have to do it sooner or later.

Cosette moved quickly, taking down the drum kit and starting to carry it out to the bus. The girl she’d asked to help earlier popped up when she was on her second trip to the bus, and she gestured to the rest of the kit, indicating where she should put them before heading back inside and backstage again.

Marius had found Enjolras backstage after he put the guitar away and was having a conversation with him. It looked very one sided, a tired Enjolras yelling at a nervous Marius, but soon enough Enjolras walked away.

Cosette stayed back when she realized Enjolras was yelling, waiting until he walked away to approach and gently put a hand on Marius’s upper arm. “Everything okay?”

"Yeah, it’s good. He’s letting me go because he can’t see any reason not to, I have everything urgent done. He’s going back home now. Like usual."

She smiled at that, nodding. “Good. That’s something, at least. The kit’s all set, bus is all locked up.”

"So that means we can leave."

"Whenever you’re set. The diner’s only a couple blocks away, we can walk it if you’d rather. I walked into work today, so I don’t have a car with me."

"Alright, walking is good." He checked his back pocket to make sure he had his wallet. "I’m ready then."

"Perfect." She offered him a grin, nodding toward the stage and leading him out of the stadium through the back door before falling into step with him. "So what was Enjolras yelling about?" she questioned.

"He was just pulling his usual shit. If you’re not here and our new techie isn’t here, who is going to take care of our stuff. I told him everything was put away and it would be fine while we’re gone. Then he was mad that he didn’t have anything to be mad about. That kind of deal. He’s like that."

Cosette raised an eyebrow at the last part of it, shaking her head. “He gets mad when he doesn’t have anything to be mad about? How does that even make sense?”

"It doesn’t, does it? But that’s Enjolras for you. He wanted to find fault in what I was doing, and when he couldn’t, he was angry about it."

"He’s a very angry person. I feel like it would just. Get exhausting. Being that angry all the time."

"I only imagine that he sleeps well at night." Marius laughed, shaking his head.

: Cosette laughed softly at that, ducking her head. “I can imagine so. He’s an interesting personality.”

"You still need to find the time to talk to him and make him more comfortable with your new job. Now is not that time though. One day when he’s less angry."

She nodded. “When he’s less angry, yes. If you point out a day when he’s less angry, I’ll talk with him then, yeah?”

"I’ll do my best." He winked. "No promises."

The wink made her blush, and she huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head slightly. “If worse comes to worse, I’ll talk to him soon whether he’s in a bad mood or not. At least enough to introduce myself.”

“Enjolras is always in a bad mood. I think Combeferre and Courfeyrac can tell better than I can, at least.”

"Encouraging thoughts," she murmured, shaking her head. "I’ll talk to him in time."

"Have one of the other two introduce you sometime. It might work out easier."

"I can do that. Courfeyrac would be happy to, I’m sure."

"Try him. I’m sure he will."

"That’ll be a mission for this week. I’ll get him to introduce me."

"Perfect."

"When do we leave Paris?" she questioned, looking up at him.

"Two days from now." Marius replied, "Were headed for Germany."

"Germany." The word was said with just the slightest hint of awe; Cosette had never traveled, as much as she had always wanted to, and so to know she would be leaving home… It was exciting. "I’ll talk to the stadium tomorrow, let them know I’m leaving. Talk to my papa. Pack."

“Good. The band funds will pay for your gravel funds, including a hotel and all your hotel food. At least they should. I’ll talk to Enjolras to make sure.”

She nodded, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Alright. Great. I’m excited.”

"That’s good. Germany is a great place."

"Where else is the tour going besides Germany?" She paused for a moment as they reached the diner, pulling the door open and leading him inside. The waiter led them over to a table, setting menus in front of them, and Cosette settled into her seat comfortably, crossing one leg over the other and requesting a coffee when the boy asked what he could get them for drinks.

Marius ordered his own coffee before pulling out his phone and pulling up the tour schedule, sliding it over to Cosette.

Looking down at the phone, she read through the locations, unable to keep from grinning. So many places that she hadn’t been, that she would get to visit now… She slid his phone back to him, nodding. “That’s… going to be fantastic.”

"You get used to traveling after a while."

"I can imagine. It’s just new for me right now. Which makes it immensely exciting."

"Of course. I understand."

"I’m sure the excitement will wear off in time. It’s just… very different."

"It’s kind of cute."

That made her blush, looking up at him with a shy half-grin. “Is it?”

"Yeah." He smiled at her.

She ducked her head, laughing softly and biting the inside of her lip. “You’re sweet.”

"I try." he laughed.

"And you succeed." Cosette lifted her gaze again, giving him a grin. The waiter came back over then, setting their coffees down in front of them and asking for their orders, and it was then that Cosette realized she hadn’t even looked at the menu yet, more distracted by conversation than anything else.

Marius had glanced at the menu, but nothing more than that, so he ordered the first thing he saw that sounded at least slightly good, trying to look prepared.

Cosette glanced over the menu while Marius ordered, shooting the waiter a smile and ordering something simple when he turned to her and handing her menu back with a quiet thanks. As the boy walked away to put their orders in, she took a quick sip of her coffee, shifting slightly to settle more comfortably.

"So…" he said awkwardly, tapping his fingers against the table, "What should we talk about?"

Lifting a hand to twirl a strand of hair around her fingertip idly, Cosette hummed softly. “I’m not sure,” she said, chewing the inside of her lip. “How did you end up with the Amis? Were they always as bratty as they are now, or were they nicer once upon a time?”

"Nicer? Nope. They’ve always been like this. Little brats. It comes from being rich and famous. Enjolras did all of their managing before they got really famous so they didn’t need me until later. It was one of the first jobs I applied for. They were looking for someone directly out of uni who didn’t know what they were doing, and they found me."

"Encouraging," she toned, raising an eyebrow. "Why would they want someone who didn’t know what they were doing, though? Wouldn’t that be counterproductive?"

"They wanted to use me as a techie and a manager, I think. And Enjolras still wanted to do most of the work himself."

She shook her head slightly at that. “It’s a control thing, I’m assuming, wanting to do most of the work himself?”

"Yeah, I’m guessing. Enjolras is like that."

"It seems that way. It’s interesting, though it sounds… exhausting at best. Has he given you any more to do aside from teching since you started?"

"Of course. Now I do almost everything, to be honest. Besides manage the money. Enjolras does that."

"Of course. That’s… pretty impressive. And absolutely exhausting. I can’t imagine doing everything managerial and also teching."

"That’s why I have you now, though, right?" Marius laughed.

That made her grin, nodding and nudging his ankle lightly. “That’s why you have me. And ideally I’ll make things easier for you.”

"I couldn’t ask for anything more." He looked down at his coffee, spinning a spoon in it idly.

"Hopefully I’m to their satisfaction too. I hoped I’d end up in this kind of job eventually. I taught myself a bunch of different instruments so I’d know how to tune if I did get the chance."

"They should pay well once Enjolras gets used to you and sees what you can do."

She nodded. “I’m not too worried about the pay, really. Even if it didn’t pay well, it’s worth it for the travel factor alone.”

"Very true. If you want to travel, it’s a cheap way to do it. But you don’t get much sightseeing in, unless the band is invited somewhere."

"Even so. It’s six months of traveling to places I’ve never been to, doing work I enjoy doing. How many people can say they’ve ever gotten that chance?"

Marius looked up and smiled. “You’re right. Not many can say that.”

"Exactly." She gave him a grin, pausing to take a sip of her coffee before speaking again. "It’s worth it, even without the sightseeing involved."

"This is the first time we’ve been to North America too. Since they released some of their albums in English, the UK, Ireland, and America are all pretty excited to have us."

"I can imagine so. Which is even further exciting. You said you speak both French and English, right?"

"Yes. I do. German too. Why?" As an afterthought, Marius added, "We’re going to Canada for the first time too, believe it or not. The crowd just wasn’t big enough in North America before the English releases for it to be worth it."

"Perhaps when there’s free time during the tour, you might help me learn? English, I mean. I’ve always wanted to learn, and I know bits and pieces. Enough to have a broken conversation." The afterthought drew a smile to her face. "So there are four completely new countries on the tour this time then. That’s fantastic."

"I would love to help you learn, but I can’t promise I’m the best teacher. I did help Enjolras learn his English songs though. He sounds so pretty in English too, I was kind of surprised."

"Anything you can do to assist me would be more than enough. It’ll be fun to learn. And Enjolras seems to do well at just about everything he puts his mind to, really."

“He’s actually very bright. All three of them are, to be honest. But they all have their terrible personality flaws.”

"Of course. Everyone has their flaws, though. Theirs just seem to be a little more… glaring… than the usual."

"Yes, I suppose." Marius shrugged at that, spinning his spoon in his coffee again.

"You must have immense patience to have dealt with them for so long," she mused.

"I’d like to think I do. I really just need the job and the money."

That made her laugh softly, ducking her head. “Perhaps it’s a mix of both, then. Immense patience and the need.”

He smiled at this. “Perhaps.”

She gave him a smile. “That’s the impression I get, at the very least.”

"Thank you." He didn’t know what else to say to that.

"Of course." She glanced up then as the waiter came over, setting their plates before them with a smile and ensuring they didn’t need anything else at the moment. When he’d walked away, she took another quick sip of her coffee. "Was band management the job you wanted to get out of your degree, or did you have other plans originally?"

"I was going for management. I didn’t know anything about music at first, to be honest. I had to be taught how to tune and everything before I actually went for my interview, but it got me the job."

She hummed, nodding slightly. “On the plus, now that you know how to tune and all, you have a backup to fall onto if managing doesn’t work out, at least?”

"Yes, I suppose so. I could always be a techie, but that’s not really what I want to do with myself. No offense."

Cosette just laughed at that. “No one ever wants to be a techie, not permanently. Most of us who end up in this job want to get into performing eventually. Teching is just… a stepping stone.”

"Performing? Really? I would never want to perform. Besides, I don’t actually have talents."

She nodded slightly. “Performing, yeah. Most people who end up in tech, at least that I know, wanted to perform originally, so they took tech jobs because they already knew how to do the work. I mean. I play a bunch of different instruments because I wanted to perform once, but I know teching actually pays.” She shrugged. “Somehow I doubt you don’t have any talents, though. There must be something.”

"I see." He turned his neck from side to side, cracking it in the process. "Nope. No talents here. I’m pretty talent-less."

Cosette raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips. “Absolutely nothing, hmm?”

"Nothing. I assure you."

"Everybody’s good at /something/. Maybe not an art, but there’s got to be something you’re innately good at."

"Managing."

That just made her laugh softly, ducking her head. “Managing. Of course.”

Marius smiled at this. “It’s the best I can do. Taking care of three brats.”

"And you do well at it, evidently." She gave him a grin, flipping her hair back over her shoulder again. "It’s certainly something impressive."

"Thank you, I try." he laughed.

"You’re cute when you laugh, you know." The compliment slipped out before she’d thought about it.

He immediately blushed. “Am I?”

He was blushing again; that just made her grin wide, nodding. “You are. Very much so.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

"Even cuter when you blush." She was teasing now, letting her ankle brush against his as she took another sip of her coffee and grinning over at him.

He knew he was blushing harder now. “Thanks.”

Cosette laughed softly, shaking her head and letting her ankle stay pressed against his, a small point of contact. “You’re so easy to make blush.”

"I know I am. It’s embarrassing."

"I like it, though. It means I’m doing something right if I can fluster you."

"I suppose so." Marius shrugged gently, "I get flustered easily though."

"You do. It’s cute. It’s fun watching you get flustered."

"No, no its not."

"I think it is. Especially when it’s a little compliment that flusters you, because you get that really sexy little half-smile right before you start blushing."

Marius ran his hands over his face, trying to force his blush away. He knew it was worse now, and he felt ridiculously awkward at the moment. He didn’t even have a comment in response- his mind was completely blanking.

Cosette huffed out a quiet laugh, ducking her head. “I’m sorry, I’m making it worse. And that was really forward.”

"It’s…It’s alright." he pulled his hands away from his face and gave her a soft smile.

"I tend to speak before I think through what I’m saying when it comes to things like that. Compliments, that sort of thing," she said, giving him a sheepish grin. "Force of habit."

"Of course." He coughed and tried to straighten himself out.

Resting her chin on the back of her hand with a grin, Cosette reached out her free hand, brushing a bit of hair back from his eyes before letting it fall back to the table. “Good as new.”

This, of course, just made him blush again. “Thanks.”

She just grinned wider at that, nodding. “Any time.” She dropped her gaze then, taking another sip of her coffee.

Marius finished off his coffee and sat back, turning to look out the window again. “Why me? You could have had Courfeyrac instead. He’s much better at this kind of thing than I am.”

Cosette lifted her eyes at the question, surprised by it, and she stayed silent for a minute, trying to word her thoughts properly, before shaking her head. “Because I’m not interested in Courfeyrac,” she said simply. “Courfeyrac’s first statement upon starting to talk to me, his very first one, was about how great my legs look in this skirt. Which is flattering, admittedly, but means that he’s looking for something quick. Something easy that he can walk away from in the morning and be done with. You’re more…” She trailed off, frowning as she tried to figure out how to word it. “Not innocent, exactly. But you’re not just looking to get laid, or if you are, you’re putting on a damn good act of being genuinely interested in more than getting under my skirt.” She paused, giving him a small smile. “That, and you’re more attractive than he is.”

Marius turned back to her, not caring that he was blushing for once. “I…appreciate that. I don’t think I’m more attractive than he is by a long shot, but thanks.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up without meaning to, before poking at his food again.

Cosette just gave him a smile, shaking her head. “Courfeyrac is sexy, I’ll admit. He practically drips sex appeal. But it’s just that - sex appeal. He’d be great in bed, I have absolutely no doubt about that, but he’s not /cute/. There’s no flustering him, there’s no shy grins or relaxed smiles or anything like that. It’s a very one-dimensional level of attraction. You’re sexy too, yes, but you’re also sweet and kind of adorable and just… handsome. It’s multi-dimensional. Which makes you exponentially more attractive, in my opinion.” Finishing off her own food, she settled back in her seat, folding her hands over her stomach. “If I were the kind of person to go for a one night stand, Courfeyrac would be the one I’d go to. But personally, I prefer things with a little more meaning.”

"I appreciate the honesty. I really do." Marius didn’t know what else to say than that. It was true; he wasn’t looking for a one night stand like he had with Courfeyrac so many times before this. But he wasn’t that great with people and dating. He thought she was lovely, had a brilliant personality and beautiful looks, but he couldn’t just bring himself to say that like she obviously could.

Cosette smiled back at him with a nod, brushing a hand through her hair. “Also, your hair looks good mussed up like that. I’m pretty sure you did that accidentally, but it’s a good look on you.”

His hands immediately went to his hair to try to smooth it down, but he was sweaty from running around all night, which did nothing for his hair.

She just huffed out a laugh at that, leaning forward and reaching out to take his hands in hers. “I wasn’t kidding - it looks /good/. And you ran around all night, your hair isn’t going to lay back down smooth again. It’s a good look.”

"I, uhm, ah, thanks?" He tensed when she touched him, but didn’t make a move to pull away.

Cosette smiled softly, noting how he’d tensed, but kept her hold of his hands, slowly lowering them to rest on the table. “Of course,” she said with a nod. “Any time.”

"We should probably go. It’s getting late, and I have to get up early tomorrow to prep for the tour." Marius muttered, looking down at the table.

"We should." Squeezing his hands lightly, she let go of one after a moment, glancing around and gesturing for the waiter with a smile. He came over with a check for them, setting it on the table and taking their empty plates. "What time do you want me at the stadium tomorrow?"

"Whenever you get there, you get there. I’ll probably be there at nine. I’ll just teach you the ropes, it shouldn’t take long."

"Mm, alright. I have to be in for a shift at eleven, so I’ll find you around eleven thirty after I talk with my boss." Looking down at the check, she patted down her pockets, fishing out her wallet to pull money out for her half.

"I can pay for it, it’s alright." He said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.

Cosette paused then, blushing lightly. “Are you sure?” she questioned.

"Positive." Marius nodded his head and placed the money down on the table.

Giving a shy smile, she slipped her wallet away, brushing a hand through her hair. “Thank you.” Drinking the last of her coffee, she cleared her throat. “Shall we head out then?”

"Yes." He stood, holding a hand out to her to help her up.

Taking his hand, she got to her feet, brushing her hand over her skirt to smooth it out before heading out of the diner.

He walked her back to the stadium. “Are you going to be alright walking home?”

"Ah, yeah, I’ll be alright. I’m only about twenty minutes from here on foot and it’s nice tonight." Cosette smiled up at him, brushing her fingertips against the back of his hand. "I’ll see you in the morning, then, Marius."

"Yeah. In the morning, then." Marius smiled at her.

"I look forward to it. Have a good night." Pausing a moment, she shifted up on her toes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away. Giving a last grin, she turned then, sliding her hands into the pockets of her skirt and starting her walk home.


	9. Carve a Path in Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Gueulemer visits Seventh Level to start a piece with Jean

The doorbell chimed as Gueulemer entered the Seventh Level Tattoo shop. He had an appointment with Jean Prouvaire, the tattoo artist that had created the masterpieces on his rival drummer’s arms. He stepped up to the counter, both hands in his pockets, and gazed around the shop as he waited for the artist to come greet him. It was exactly what he had expected from a tattoo parlor, but maybe a little cleaner. Nothing out of the ordinary for someone who was supposedly one of the best in the business, as Combeferre had described him in a tabloid article.

"Just a moment!" Jean was just about done with this sketch, a relatively simple floral piece that he was doing for a girl who would be in a few days later, and when he heard the doorbell chime, he knew he had run later than he’d planned to with this sketch. The client that afternoon was another of the better known ones, a drummer from a band that Jean had recognized the name of when he’d heard it while setting up the appointment, though he couldn’t recall at the moment.

Finishing off a last couple of lines, he pushed away from the desk, getting to his feet and approaching the counter with a smile. Ah, that’s right. The Minette. Jean recognized the man as soon as he saw his face. He was a fan of their music, actually. Walking up, he leaned against the counter with a grin. “You must be Gueulemer. Jean Prouvaire.” He held a hand out with his introduction. “What can I do for you this afternoon?”

"I am." He shook the slighter man’s hand before returning his own to his pocket. "I’m thinking a piece on my back. I’d like it to be pretty large, just black ink, my band’s logo in the center with music notes taking up the rest of my back. It’ll probably take more than just today’s appointment, yeah?"

Pulling a piece of paper over, Jean did a quick sketch of the Minette’s logo while Gueulemer spoke, giving a nod. “Back pieces, I usually suggest from three to six appointments depending on the size of what you want. For a full back, five or six minimum. How in depth do you want the design around the logo to be?” He looked up with that question, his hand pausing where it was on the page. “Just simple notes, or something more… fancy?”

"Something fancier, I think." he replied after a moment of thinking, "Something fancier would look better than simple notes. I don’t know what though. You’re the artist." He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck.

Jean hummed softly, looking down at the Minette logo before building a rough design around it - a staff that broke in places and restarted again in others, all centered on the logo. Turning the rough sketch toward Gueulemer, he looked up, a questioning expression on his face.

"Something like this? I can include something relating to drums in up around your shoulders, maybe a couple pieces of a drum kit over here and a set of drumsticks here. That’d be a few sessions from now, though. First session would be getting the Minette symbol in, and probably some of the center staff there. I can put notes from some of your songs, a different one for each section of the staff."

"Oh wow, yeah. I like that. Shit, this is going to be expensive as fuck though, isn’t it?" Gueulemer was impressed by the young artist’s passion, though. Most people wouldn’t put as much effort into it as he was suggesting.

Jean huffed out a quiet laugh at the question, shrugging a shoulder. “My flat rate is $50 an hour, and I don’t do sessions over four hours because the skin swells up too much past that. So, at five sessions, you’d hit a grand. If you plan on being a constant customer, I’ll charge a grand for the whole thing. With this design, it’ll probably take… I’m thinking eight sessions. Maybe a couple more, we’ll see how many more as I work. If you go under five sessions, I’ll give money back. If it was in color, it would be a lot more expensive, but it’s all black.”

"Shit. Alright. It’s not like I can’t afford it." Gueulemer shrugged. "I liked the work you did on Les Amis drummer, so it’s worth it."

"You can pay it in increments too. I’ll keep track of how much you’ve paid. And if you keep coming back for consecutive sessions, I’ll probably discount you before you’re done anyway." Jean couldn’t help but preen at the compliment that he received, though, straightening up with a wide grin on his face. "You’ve seen his sleeves then? They’re not done yet, but… they’re close to done. Some of my best work too."

"Yeah, I have. That asshole doesn’t deserve sleeves that nice." It slipped out before he could sensor himself, but his hatred of Les Amis and all of its band members was hard to hide.

Jean gave a surprised laugh at that, shaking his head. “I don’t know about that, but he pays well, and it gets my name out there at least.”

"That’s true. This will help get your name out there too, though maybe not as much just because it will be on my back. But hey, all the guys and gals I sleep with will be asking about it." Gueulemer winked.

"Gals /and/ guys, hmm?" Jean said with a grin, blushing lightly at the wink despite himself. He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "I’m sure it’ll get my name out there. And even if it didn’t, how often will I get to work on a member of a band I actually follow? Not a common occurrence. Not yet, anyway." Looking down at the sketch, he hummed quietly. "If you’d like, we can get started today. I have no other appointments this afternoon; I can lock the front and get at least the beginnings down. For this main staff, I have a song in mind already that I know the notes for, I can fill those in if we get that far."

"Starting today is great. It probably won’t be done by the time I start tour in a couple months though, will it?"

"Ah, not fully, nope. We can get in… Probably two more sessions between now and a couple months from now. I try to wait three or four weeks between sessions to make sure what I’ve already done heals up." Gesturing toward the back of the shop, Jean led Gueulemer through to a chair, adjusting it so that he could sit comfortably. "You can take either a stool or sit with your chest against the back of a chair, whichever you think will be more comfortable to work with. As far as what I can do before tour, I can make sure it doesn’t look incomplete between sessions. It’ll just look like you’re expanding on it. Which is much easier with this than it is with other areas."

"Perfect." Gueulemer responded, taking a seat, "I’m excited to see how it turns out. Hopefully as good as Combeferre’s sleeves. He needs to be jealous."

Jean chuckled softly at that, moving around to set things up - a couple large circles of black ink, gloves, paper towels, the usual set up. “I can try to make it better than his sleeves, given I’ve got more freedom to work with this one and more knowledge of your band, but I don’t know if he’ll be jealous. I’m just an artist, no one that important. Shirt off.”

Moving to the radio, he flipped through his playlists before landing on one of mixed rock music, humming along as the first song started and grabbing a pen to outline what he wanted to get done. When he turned back to Gueulemer shirtless, he had to pause for a moment, letting his eyes trail over the other’s torso; he was attractive, Jean had known that already, but the sight of him without a shirt just confirmed that.

A grin turned up the corners of his lips as he approached again, moving to look over his back. “I’ll have to give you my cell number when we’re done here. This way you can call me when you have time for your next appointment and I can make sure shop’s closed up while you’re in.”

"Sounds good. I’ll always take a pretty boy’s cell number." He could tell Jean was interested in him, but he had little to no interest in return. He wasn’t into feminine guys, but he was fun to flirt with.

Jean flushed lightly at the compliment, huffing out a quiet laugh. “Sweet talking now, hm? You drummers are all such flirts,” he teased, shaking his head and leaning forward to start drawing carefully on his back.

"It’s a drummer thing, huh?" He thought for a moment. "Yeah, I’d say every drummer I know is a huge flirt. We can have our pick of who we want, you know."

Jean chuckled at that, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I’ve noticed as much. That would be because being a drummer is a very, very attractive trait. Something about the strength thing.”

"Is it? Huh, I never thought about it." Voluntarily he gave his arm a slight flex. "Yeah, a strength thing. It must be. I’ve never met a weak drummer. The closest I’ve come is that Les Amis drummer, you know. He’s mostly fat."

Jean couldn’t help but glance at Gueulemer’s arm when he flexed, humming softly and shaking his head at the comment. “Mm, no, I wouldn’t say he is,” he returned. “And I’ve spent long enough working on his arms to know his muscle build. He’s pretty health-conscious too; I’ve had a couple dinners with him.” He frowned slightly at the memory of Combeferre skipping over dessert and the nature of his meal before shaking his head slightly. “Anyway. I don’t think I’ve met a weak drummer either. I’m rather fond of drummers, personally.”

Gueulemer could say more on Combeferre- a lot more- but he realized making another comment like that would probably be a bad idea when the guy was holding a tattoo gun to his back. Instead he said, “This guy must be a pretty good friend of yours, to have had a couple dinners with him, huh?”

Sitting back, Jean looked over what he’d drawn; it would take a couple of hours to work through this part, but it would be a good start at least. Moving from his stool to wrap paper towel around his fingers and get the tattoo gun prepared, he hummed quietly. “Not really. He’s just been a client for a while. The last couple of times I’ve worked late on one of his sleeves, I’ve brought him to the diner down the street when we’re done. I don’t like to be alone for long if I can help it.”

"Huh, really? I’m hardly ever alone. I think being alone would be a nice feeling once in a while."

Jean huffed out a quiet laugh at that, looking over at him as he dipped the end of the gun into the ink, moving back behind him and setting his palette, a water bottle, and a roll of paper towels down beside himself before taking a seat. “Gonna start now,” he warned, resting his hand toward the middle of Gueulemer’s back before starting to work. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again. “I spend the majority of my time alone. I work in a tattoo shop - aside from customers, I don’t see many people. Occasionally I’ll go home with one of those customers for the night, but most of the time, I’m alone with my sketchbooks.”

"Mm. My job is filled with people. I can’t escape from my band mates, and my bedroom in a constant stream of people."

"You know, you /could/ turn someone away from your bedroom if you wanted to," he returned, sounding amused. Glancing over at the iPod when it switched to a familiar song, one of the Minette’s newer ones, he hummed along quietly for a verse before speaking again. "I would imagine the constant flux of people is just exhausting. I like having company and all, but if it was constant, I’d go insane."

"Hearing Babet’s voice is the most annoying thing to me," Gueulemer said when his band came up, "But I love hearing my drumming. It’s perfect." He let out a yawn before adding, "You get used to the people. And who am I to turn someone away?"

Jean chuckled quietly at the comment, humming. “I like the rasp in his voice. It’s unique. Your drumming is fantastic too.” Tilting his head at the yawn, Jean paused a moment to drag paper towel over the skin and see how well the ink was taking before speaking again. “I suppose you have a point.”

"Yeah, yeah. Our band is known for being unique. That drunk has been my friend for years and he’s full of himself. Never let him catch you complimenting him like that."

He snorted quietly, shaking his head. “Good to know for future reference. When you’re that talented, you have some right to be full of yourself, though. I’d imagine all of you are a little bit cocky.”

"Hey, maybe we are. But were not Les Amis. We haven’t forgotten where we came from and the people who helped us get there."

"I meant no insult by that, I swear. Cockiness is attractive in doses." He chewed his lip lightly at the statement about the Amis, though, shrugging a shoulder. "I haven’t met the rest of the band, but… the drummer doesn’t seem that bad. He’s been nice to me, at least. Which may be because I’ve been working on his sleeves for months, but even so."

"He’s getting what he wants from you. I’d like to think that even he isn’t stupid enough to anger the guy with the tattoo gun, right? Wouldn’t want any scarring on that pretty body of his."

Jean chuckled quietly at that, shrugging again. “I suppose so. Though I have a rule that even if a client does piss me off, I don’t fuck with their pieces. It’d make me look bad if I did and all.”

"That’s true. Especially with a famous client. But I know I’m right in what I’m saying, I know Les Amis better than you do, unfortunately. They’re a bunch of assholes. They came from money, unlike us. We came from the streets and we won’t forget that."

Jean was quiet for a minute at that, chewing the inside of his lip. There was some truth to what he said, unfortunately. Combeferre described his own band mates as difficult at best. And he knew they came from money… Jean just sighed, shrugging a shoulder again. “Most people that come from money are assholes,” he admitted at last. “It’s different when you have to claw your way up.”

"But you’re going to have a hard time seeing your precious drummer friend in the same light now. I’m sorry."

"It doesn’t change how I see him," he returned. "Being critical of a friend doesn’t make them less of a friend. It just makes me more honest about him is all. Besides. I’m nothing that important to him anyway. Just an artist. I don’t know if he’d even call me a friend."

"I don’t think Combeferre has friends." Gueulemer admitted, "Besides his two idiot band mates. Everyone else is just someone to use. I was friends with him once, I’d know. Our relationship ended on a sour note as we got more competitive."

Jean paused for a moment, glancing away from Gueulemer. That stung; to think that he was just someone useful, when he was starting to get invested in Combeferre… Hopefully he was wrong. Jean had to let himself think he was wrong. Turning his attention back to the tattoo, he gave a hum. “I dunno. I don’t know him that well, I guess.”

"I don’t suggest getting to know him any better than you do now. Does he trust you well enough to actually talk about his band with you?"

Pausing a moment at the question, Jean nodded slightly. “He has, yeah. He talks about them a lot, actually.”

"Really? He tells you about what they’ve been up to?"

"When it’s just us in the shop, sometimes, yeah. He talks pretty freely now." He shrugged a shoulder. "He knows I wouldn’t tell anyone about it easily."

"Of course not, of course not. I just wondered."

"Of course." Jean hummed quietly, shifting his hand to drag the paper towel over his skin again and looking over the area with narrowed eyes before leaning in to work again. "That’s sort of a common thing, to be honest. I’ve been working on a lot of bands lately, and people talk more freely about things while they’re getting inked."

"Kind of like getting a haircut." He ran a hand through his hair, though trying to stay as still as he possibly could for the artist.

"Exactly," he said with a chuckle. "If you need a break, let me know. I can pause whenever."

"Nah, I’m fine. It’s cool. Stings a little, but I’ve had worse. Much worse."

Jean grinned slightly at that. “Have you now?”

"Mm." Not that it was something he wanted to talk about. "Are bands a popular thing for you now?"

Shifting slightly behind him, Jean started moving out from the mostly finished Minette logo, starting to make the lines of the staff. “Relatively. I got a lot of local bands before now, but now it’s more popular ones that come in. I don’t have much time for walk-ins anymore, which used to be where I made most of my money.”

"And it’s Combeferre that got you that popular. No wonder you don’t want to say anything bad about him."

Jean huffed out a quiet laugh at that, ducking his head. “He’s also just… generally nice to me. I don’t like speaking negatively of people unless they’ve given me a reason.”

"Of course, of course." He let out another yawn. "So you don’t have any news of Les Amis for me?"

Jean raised an eyebrow at the question, grinning lightly. “You know I can’t tell you anything. Not so easily as that.”

"Hm, well what would I have to do to get you to talk?"

He chuckled quietly, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m not entirely sure. You’d have to get creative to figure that out.”

"Hmm, I suppose I’ll have to." he laughed.

"Get dinner with me when we’re done here. At the diner. I might talk a little more freely then."

"Mm, trying to get a free meal out of me? Alright, I can do that."

Jean chuckled, shrugging. “I was planning on paying for myself, actually, but you know. If you’re offering.”

"I can afford it more than you can. The asshole Les Amis drummer probably didn’t even offer, did he?"

"Oh no, he did. I paid the first time, he paid the second."

"I’m impressed. He’s not polite in the least, so doing something as kind as paying for someone else’s dinner is something I thought was beyond him."

Jean huffed out a laugh at that, shaking his head. “He’s been nothing but polite to me and around me. Not sure why, but he’s been good.”

"Have you slept with him yet?" He smirked, although he knew the other couldn’t see him.

The artist flushed darkly, caught off-guard by the question, and he cleared his throat. “I… No. No, I haven’t slept with him.”

"There you go. Though I’m a little surprised he’s going through so much effort to sleep with one person."

He shook his head slightly. “I don’t think that’s why he’s been as nice to me as he has. He hasn’t tried to get me in his bed yet.”

"I’m surprised. Maybe he’s going to wait until his tattoos are finished?" Gueulemer suggested.

Jean hummed quietly, chewing the inside of his lip. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m his type, to be honest.”

"What makes you say that?"

"Just… a feeling. Generally, if someone’s interested enough, it’s fairly obvious. I don’t get that vibe with him."

"Combeferre’s not that fun in bed, and he’s a bit on the heavy side. He’s lost a lot of weight recently though, as a side note. But you’re not missing much."

Jean snorted quietly at that, shaking his head. “I’ve made a point not to think too much about it. It’s not that hard for me to get into someone else’s bed if I want to.”

"But you want in his?" He chuckled.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I wouldn’t be opposed to getting in his bed. But I’m not actively trying to.”

"Of course you’re not."

"It wouldn’t matter much even if I was; he’s got feelings for someone else who’s far, far better than I am." The statement slipped out before he thought about it, and Jean fell silent with it, mentally cursing himself for letting that out.

"Oh, does he really now? Tell me more." The smirk Gueulemer wore was obvious in his voice.

"That’s… not something I should talk about," he said with a sigh. "That’s a little more personal than I’m willing to share, even if I were to share information with you, dear."

"I figured you would say that. It’s strange that he’s so open with you though, don’t you think?"

Chewing the inside of his lip, he shrugged. “Maybe a bit. I don’t know. He’s been coming to see me for a while now. Maybe he just needed to vent about it.”

"Maybe." He tilted his head from side to side, letting his neck crack. He was starting to tense from sitting in the same position for so long.

Finishing up the lines on the right side of his back, Jean paused, shifting back. “You should stretch out. The rest will take another forty five minutes or so.”

"God, so long." Gueulemer sighed, "I don’t know if I have the patience for this.”

Jean chuckled quietly, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s a long time, but it’ll come out looking great, I promise you. You can take a look at what’s already there while you stretch out if you want. There’s a mirror right there.” He pointed it out, a full-length mirror with another to the side so that the back could be seen through the proper angle. “It’s coming out well so far.”

Gueulemer stood and walked over to the mirrors, stretching and admiring his back. “It looks nice. This better be worth it, because sitting for this long is killing me.”

He hummed quietly at that, humming and shifting things around so that he could work on the other side. “It’ll be worth it, I promise you. It’ll get better and better looking the more I add on. After this, we can do shorter sessions; this one’s only this long because it’s giving the base that I’m working off of for future pieces.”

"Alright, alright. I’m ready. Let’s get back to it." He sat back down on the chair, pulling out his phone and checking his messages.

Taking a seat on the stool again, Jean made sure things were properly set up before starting on the other side of his back. “You’ll need someone to help you care for this one properly because of where it is. You’ll have about three weeks of A&D Ointment treatment, and then it’ll be past the peeling stage and onto the shiny smooth stage. By six weeks it should be good and healed up.”

"Alright. I can get Babet to do it. No problem." He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"I’ll give you a tube of it to take with you; it should be enough to last you through at least the next couple appointments."

"Great, thanks." He ran a hand through his hair again. "Are we almost done yet?" He asked jokingly.

Jean chuckled at that. “Oh yes, of course, we’re completely done,” he monotoned back, shaking his head.

"Thank God, I’m tired of sitting like this already."

“It’s a good thing this’ll be your longest session, then, hmm?”

"Thank God, because I’m already tired."

Jean chuckled quietly. “You don’t like sitting still for long periods of time, hmm?”

"Not unless I’m on a stage drumming." He laughed.

"Other sessions will be much shorter, I promise. This one’s just got a lot of base work to it is all." He hummed. "When is your tour starting up, by the way? I’ve been watching out for tickets, but nothing’s come up yet."

"We’ve still got a couple months. This is our little bit of down time. I could probably hook you up with some tickets."

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Would you be willing to do that? Really?”

"Yeah, I can get you the best seats for a good price. How many do you want?"

"Ah, just one. I’ll be going on my own."

"Yeah that’s no problem then. I can get you something."

"That would be fantastic. I’ve been to see you guys on your last three or four tours, it’s always a good show."

"Really? Have you? Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m just in the back though, so that’s mostly Babet’s doing."

"Mm, it’s partly him. He’s got a good stage presence. It’s mostly just the music, to be honest. Even without the great stage show, it’s a good one to go to simply for how good you always sound."

Gueulemer smirked. “Thanks. We’ve come a long way.”

"Mm, I’ve noticed that. I’ve heard some of your earlier demos; you’ve gotten better since you started."

"Our band is just a Fucking joke to the tabloids."

Jean snorted quietly at that. “The tabloids like to speculate where you’ve come from. And the relationships within the band. But that happens with all big bands, really.”

"Have they come in bugging you for stories yet?"

"A couple times, yeah. They start off asking about my work and are sorely disappointed when I don’t give them any kind of stories other than that."

"I can imagine." He smirked, "Hey, I have an idea. What if I trade you information. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, and you tell me about this person Combeferre thinks he’s crushing on."

Jean raised an eyebrow at that, shaking his head. “That’s something I can’t talk about, unfortunately. It’s more personal than I’m willing to share, even if I were to trade information.”

"Oh, come on. I’ll give you something juicy in return, I swear."

"It would be a big breach of trust if I told you about that."

Gueulemer groaned loudly. “Fine, fine.”

"He may not actually be invested in me at all, but I can’t break that. Just like I wouldn’t tell him anything you happened to let slip during sessions. It’s a whole thing."

"Now it’s going to bother me that I don’t know. We used to be friends once you know. But then Combeferre quit drinking and he’s a bitch when he’s not drunk."

"Most people are much bitchier when sober, unfortunately," he said with a shrug. "You know that there’s someone, though. I’m sure if you thought it through, you could figure it out."

Gueulemer wasn’t that bright. He knew he wasn’t bright enough to get it too, and he was deeply offended. “I guess.”

"… I meant no offense by that. It just… it wasn’t surprising to me when he told me. But then, he’s been talking to me quite a lot."

"I haven’t talked to him in a very long time. I make it a point not to."

"You dislike him that much now, huh?"

"Pretty much. Our relationship went downhill fast."

"I can tell," he returned with a small frown.

"Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over, though." He purred.

Jean chuckled quietly at that, shaking his head. “Pretty, hmm?”

"Very pretty."

He blushed, clearing his throat and moving away from him then, cleaning the end of the gun before turning it off. “That ah. That’ll do it for today. Gimme a minute to clean it up and then you can take a look in the mirror. I’ll cover it up before we head out.”

“Good, I’m tired of sitting around anyway.”

That just made him chuckle as he returned to clean up the other’s skin, moving carefully over the freshly inked area and then gesturing to the mirror. “Go ahead and take a look.”

He stood and looked in the mirror. “Damn, it’s looking nice.”

Jean couldn’t help the proud grin that crossed his face as he cleaned up the area, grabbing a suitably large cover and the promised tube of A&D before returning to his stool. “It’ll be a great piece. It’s good now, but it’ll get better as we add more on.”

"Good. I’m excited. But I can’t sit still any longer."

"I swear the next few sessions will be shorter. It was mostly the logo that took up a lot of time today, really."

"How’s your back feel?" he questioned, walking over then and tapping a clear patch of Gueulemer’s skin to warn that he was behind him before starting to spread ointment over the tattoo carefully.

"It feels alright, I guess. Could hurt worse."

Jean chuckled at that. “Good. Be careful not to sleep on your back for a couple of weeks. Don’t leave this uncovered in the shower for at least a week. Keep applying that A&D every… probably four hours or so, for the next three weeks, until it gets out of the peeling stage and into the shiny smooth stage.”

"God, so many rules. I’m not going to remember all of that." He said, still admiring his new tattoo in the mirror.

"I’ll give you a paper that has all the rules on it, don’t worry. It’s easy stuff to remember, it just makes the aftercare for the tattoo easier.

"I’ll trust you on that one." He finally stopped staring at his tattoo and turned to look at Jean. "Can I put my shirt back on now?"

He chuckled softly, securing the cover over the tattoo before taking a step back from him and nodding. “You’re all set now.

He pulled his shirt on over his head and brushed out the wrinkles. “There we go.”

"You can take the cover off when you’ve returned home." Moving back to his station again, Jean pulled off the gloves he had worn, tossing them into a trash bin and sliding the bin back underneath the table on which the rest of his equipment laid. He fetched the tube of A&D he had promised then, pulling a drawer open and grabbing a sheet of paper before returning to Gueulemer’s side and handing over both of the things in his hands. "Today’s session will be $150, and then you’re good to go."

He took the things before pulling out his wallet with the other hand. He slid the paper and tube into his pocket before pulling 150 Euros out of his wallet and handing it over. “Thanks, I appreciate it man.”

Taking the money, Jean went to the front of the shop, tucking the money into a lock box under the counter along with the rest of the money from that day and giving him a bright smile. “Any time. Still up for dinner, then? Or maybe just drinks. There’s a good bar about ten minutes walk from here.”

"Ah, trying to get me drunk now? I see how it is." He smirked, "All kidding aside, drinks sounds good."

Jean snorted quietly at that, grinning back at him. “Yes, that’s completely my intention. I’m going to get you drunk and attempt to seduce you, you’ve seen right through my plan.”

"Oh, you don’t need to get me drunk to seduce me."

That made him blush, raising an eyebrow. “Oh I don’t, hmm? Is that so?”

"You’re not really my type, but I personally just like watching you blush."

Jean laughed quietly, ducking his head. “Compliments make me blush; I suppose I’m easy to get to.”

"You are, aren’t you?" He laughed.

He rolled his eyes at that, grinning back at him. “Only at times.”

"Yeah, yeah." he put his wallet back and shrugged his shoulders. "Ready?"

Checking his pockets to make sure he’d slipped his phone and wallet back into his pockets, Jean nodded, moving to the front door and unlocking it to pull it open and gesture Gueulemer through it.

Gueulemer walked outside with a yawn and gazed around. It was almost dark already and he had walked here. He’d probably need Babet to pick him up by the end of the night.

Sliding a key into the handle of the door as he pulled it closed, Jean twisted it to make sure the shop was locked before turning back toward Gueulemer and nodding up the street, in the opposite direction of the diner. “We worked later into the day than I thought,” he mused, walking toward the bar.

"I guess so. I feel like that took forever."

Jean chuckled quietly at that. “It wasn’t that long, really. The rest of the sessions will be much shorter than this one, though.”

"I know, I know. You keep saying that."

"Reassurance." He shrugged slightly.

"If I get you drunk tonight, will you tell me all of Les Amis’s secrets?"

Jean snorted quietly, shaking his head. “Probably not all of them,” he returned, grinning over at him. “I might let one or two slip, but not a whole lot else. I’m chatty when drunk, but not that chatty.”

"Damn. Well I guess it doesn’t hurt to try."

"You can see what you can get out of me, but I don’t promise to spill much," he said, chuckling. "I’d have a very upset drummer on my hands if he found out I shared his secrets and all."

"He wouldn’t have to find out, of course."

Jean just raised an eyebrow at that, pursing his lips. “I’m pretty positive that he would find out.”

"You don’t know that."

“But see, you would likely use anything I tell you to get a leg up over the Amis. And that would be a dead giveaway that I’d told you something.”

"True. So true."

"Precisely what I thought." Chuckling quietly as they reached the door of the bar, Jean pulled it open, gesturing the other inside. "I might give you a little bit of info the more I drink, but we’ll see. We’ll see."


End file.
